Concerning Queen Evelyn, Among Other Things
by wizkid08
Summary: A long time ago, Evelyn once knew a friendly Sirius Black. Perverted by hormones, his behavior is now barely redeemable.  Unfortunately, Evelyn is enganged to tutor him.  Join us in one girl's bleak struggle to uncover the soft underbelly of boy-kind.
1. Chapter 1

**Concerning Queen Evelyn, the Mighty, Mysterious, Last Gryffindor of Ravenclaw and her **_**Adventures with Sirius Black**_

_Summary: A long time ago, in time immemorial, Evelyn once knew a friendly Sirius Black. Perverted by hormones, his behavior is now barely redeemable. Unfortunately, Evelyn is enganged to tutor him in History of Magic. Join us in one girl's bleak struggle to uncover the soft underbelly of boy-kind. ...Thy estrogen shall triumph!_

_This story is AU only in that, to make an obvious point, Rowling did not write it. There are original characters, of course, but for the most part, I am attempting to stay true to what we know of Sirius Black, his friends, and his personality. Liberties have been taken but I don't think my rendering of Black will be completely ridiculous. Perhaps only slightly. Time will tell.  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Harry Potter series, nor is this story intended as a commercial exploit._

_**Chapter One: The Brain on the Train**_

_Hogwarts Express._

Sixth year back at Hogwarts. Nothing to write home about really, but both my parents are excited, because sixth year is the form when students start their NEWT classes. As a Ravenclaw, and as a pureblood, I am expected to do extremely well.

Actually, it is not strictly about expectations anymore, is it? What my parents want from all of their children goes beyond expectations. It is more a general unspoken knowledge that anything less than a stellar performance in my classes this term will lead to a quick abandonment and then disownment. Read: I will be left on the streets to make my own way if I so much as slip an inch and get an Exceeds Expectations on any assignment. I frequently daydream and over plot, so a Life On The Streets would not be a good one for me. To my parents, bad grades at Hogwarts are the worst betrayal of any kind. I think they would sooner betroth me to a Lestrange than see me do poorly on any exam, so I must do well this semester. It's about family pride, really. Family pride and keeping my allowance in check.

Everything is fated to work out, however, since I am an amazing student.

Prefect.

Top of my class.

Tutor to Muggleborns and younger students alike.

I should be any parent's wet dream.

I was raised in an environment that is the epitome of what a Ravenclaw pureblood family should be about. We are neutral in political matters. In the mid to upper echelons when it comes to finances. And more or less on the fence when it comes to just about every other aspect of life. Straddling that fence is not necessarily a bad thing—I have grown up to believe the opposite—but it sure as Madam Bovary does not put one in the mind of Doing Things Soon; this is why people at Hogwarts usually see me buried in a book.

But books are lovely. I like books. I could blather on for pages and pages about books and how I think they're an indispensible step towards achieving enlightenment, but I was raised by intellectuals and they taught me to set daily goals, not dither on. My family didn't necessarily stress the importance of meeting these goals, but the act of making lists is important in the Ransom family. My set goal for this afternoon, alas, does not include rambling monologues about the general captivating nature of literary works, so I must get my thoughts in order. You have joined me at the beginning, which is always a nice place to start, so I think right now, I will make a list about what I want to achieve this 6th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1976.

#1: Quidditch Team.

My parents _loathe _Quidditch. The "official report" is that they have no opinion on it whatsoever, but I know that they would just as soon see that it got abolished in Britain. This means that if I want to rebel at all this year, I need to make our House team. I have been practicing in secret with my friend Tamara P's broom all summer long, so I do not think making the team should be a major difficulty. Barbary—our Captain, and a 7th year, and, who could forget, a swell hunk of man meat—is one Chaser down right now and who am I to deny my potential by not trying out? I could be marvelous. We never know.

#2: Get A Boyfriend.

Interesting that this is my #2. I have always wanted a boyfriend. I have never had one. For an entire month last year, I wondered very seriously if I indeed was a Lesbian and consequentially sending out Lesbian-like-vibes to all males of age I knew existed, since they tend to walk in the opposite direction when I'm approaching, but after kissing three girls and feeling no "sparks," I came to the conclusion that I am straight as an arrow. And you cannot bend an arrow; the wood would break. Unless it was a young wood, or unless you put a Bending Charm on it. Hmm.

Anyway, you get my point. Girls have cute faces and everything, but inside, they are insane, obnoxious beasts, and not worth anyone's time unless that person is very drunk off of Firewhiskey. I would know about the insanity of girls, being one myself.

Honestly, kudos, Lesbians, for being trailblazers, because it takes a bold mind to handle the double taint.

#3: Do Well On My Exams!

This should be an obvious one, but I felt like writing it down anyway. If only to make me focus more on What Is Most Important.

After Sensical Consideration, I believe #3 should actually be #2, but my brain this morning is apparently hung up on specimens of the male persuasion, ever since it espied Bertram Aubrey, homo erectus contestant number one, getting onto the Express, looking fit and very much changed from last term, and it is unwilling as yet to let go of Naughty Thoughts. So the 2nd stays, haha.

#4: Be a Better Friend to Tamara P. Paulelicky…Paulylicky…something like that.

Tamara P. is sitting across from me right now. I guess it goes to show how wrapped up in my own head I get sometimes, but I can never, for the life of me, remember how to pronounce—or spell, apparently!—her last name. I have known the girl for ten years, and every year it has yet to change. Despite the fact that she has repeatedly lent me her flying apparatus, my brain recognizes Tamara as inconsequential and that is that.

This is a very sad thing, because I genuinely do like Tamara P. Or at least I try to.

It is hard to genuinely like anyone who does not understand sarcasm. Sarcasm being a British Invention, anyone who does not apply it in everyday language should be horsewhipped.

Bad Thoughts! Bad Thoughts!

Perhaps our Tamara is insecure. Perhaps she is slightly dyslexic. But she tries hard to be what she thinks people might like and only unfortunately comes off as some sweet no-thing your mum pushes on you for tea—ironically, this is how we met. Tamara is like an amoeba with no swamp or a Madam Pince with no books. And it is easy to feel sorry for her and just as easy to be envious; because who wouldn't like to feel oblivious to the impression you're having on everyone? I would. I certainly would.

Just once, however, I would like to be allowed to write in my journal in some semblance of peace. At home, I live in a house surrounded by overbearing parents. At school, I live in a dorm room, surrounded by femmes. Just once, I mean, I would like to be allowed some privacy. Buggering Merlin and All His Toes, why can I not be allowed a moment to write? I am getting worked up, but it is only inevitable when I am the only other person in the compartment for our T.P. to talk to.

How I wish she would just leave. We are on the Hogwarts' Express, so surely, surely there is someone else to visit, someone else to bug who just so happens to be writing in her journal as well? I know the likelihood of this is astronomical, because we are all British here on this train, and Britain refined the written word.

My lack of patience is why Tamara is on my List.

"Can I have a look, then?" See?

I closed the book on my finger—so Tamara would not look—and shook my head sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, but I really don't like people reading what I write! I'm very insecure about it, if you want the truth."

Tamara sat back down in her seat and visibly deflated. "Oh." Thirty seconds of blessed silence passed and then she started talking again. "But, _why—?"_

The door banged open. "Hello, friends, how goes it?" A tall female with white-blonde hair preceded this greeting into our small compartment. Another girl, this one of medium height with black hair, followed directly behind her. Both were still in their casual leisure clothes, which was something truly unfortunate, as we should have been setting an example for the first years, but we are all allowed to be selfish. I really did not want more company—I would have much preferred reaching a solid #5 on my What Is Most Important List—but I resigned myself to making conversation.

"Hullo," I greeted somberly, standing up slowly and giving out hugs. "How have your holidays been?"

If anyone can roll their eyes sweetly at a person, then it is Blonde Camilla Jones. "Evie, mad girl, you just saw the both of us last weekend. We went out for Ice Cream and shopped at Mrs. Phillips's Robes for All Occasions. You bought a blue one and cried about your mum."

"Yes, I know, but I'd thought I'd ask anyway. Get it out of the way for other things."

"Like what?" Lucille Sawyers-of-the-dark-hair asked me.

I shrugged, unable to think of anything. "Well…"

"Oh, budge over!" Lucille said. She suited command to action by nudging me out of the way with her hip. "Getting fleshy, I see!" She turned to Tamara with a big smile. Lucy has always had a soft spot for Tamara, though Merlin knows why, because she does not seem to have any kindness for me. "Tamara! Good to see you! How's my favorite chicky?"

Tamara giggled. "But, Lucy, I'm not a _chicky,_ I'm a _girl."_

I nodded in agreement. "And a finer one, God never did make."

Thirty minutes later, it was time for me to go to The Prefects' Compartment to meet the new Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl and get my assignment for the remaining ride to Hogwarts.

"You'll come back, won't you?" Camilla asked, sparing a glance to her right to look at Tamara and Lucy—they were braiding each other's hair and I am not kidding. "Time's like these I wish I hadn't handed in my badge."

Lucy turned her head. "What? What do you mean by that?" she asked suspiciously.

"I just mean that Evie and I had so much fun last year…traipsing around the school—."

"I wouldn't call it 'fun,' Cam," I said. "It was actually a bloody waste of time most nights."

"Hear, hear!" Lucy said. "I remember waiting up for you guys. Boring, awful evenings. No one to talk to."

"But you had me," Tamara said softly.

Lucy patted her head. "Sweetie, I know I had you, but you have to admit, you do fall asleep early. Sometimes, I would be talking to you and, poof! Out you'd go! I wouldn't know what to do with myself, because I'd be done with studying and it would be too early for bed."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, _honey!"_

Oh, Merlin. I exited before this could degenerate into something worse. Something like a Muggle Soap-Sud Drama. Camilla looked like she wanted to follow me outside, but knew she could not (and so was left to mope in her seat!). I decided to save a smirk for her for when I got back. It was Camilla's damn fault she was no longer a Prefect after all.

Not wanting to handle the added stress of being a role-model to the younglings on top of NEWT classes, Camilla had explained to Flitwick at the end of last term that she did not think she was ready for both responsibilities. I think Camilla's real motivation lied in not wanting to be around her ex-boyfriend—who also happens to be a Prefect for Ravenclaw—but alas, I am not privy to Cam's inner thoughts.

I, of all people, however, do know the stress a 6th year Prefect is under.

It is Big. I will not quit my Prefect-ship, however, because I do not have anyone I need to avoid. Or at least, there are people I would like to avoid, but no one I have to.

Walking along the hallway to The Prefects' Compartment farther down the train, I started wondering who our new Head Boy would be.

I was very curious.

I knew our Head Girl could not be anyone other than Lily Evans, as she was The Original Swot, but the Head Boy position was still Up In Air last time I overheard Headmaster Dumbledore talking about it with the Head of my House, Professor Flitwick.

The fact that Dumbledore was discussing the Imminent Head Boy-ship with Flitwick of course led me to think that our new Head Boy was a fellow Raven. And this of course is solely due to the fact that I am self-absorbed and over-oblivious to the facets of banal discourse. Out of the seven possibilities of 7th years—we had a big crop of boys in Ravenclaw—the only two I could think that stood any chance at all were Heathcote Barbary and Alexander Riktus; and that was because they were fellow Prefects. Out of the two, I dearly hoped Heathcote would get the position, because if I had to be under the thumb of Cam's inept swain, Alexander Riktus, I would set down my books and go on strike.

Anthony Featherhead, one of our 6th year Prefects—and an inveterate flirt for all his curly hair and supposed harmless-looks—met me at the sliding door to the enlarged Prefects' compartment. "Hey, Ransom, looking very healthy today. You may walk in before me."

"Pederast," I murmured, wondering why this boy was blocking my way.

Anthony looked amused. "What was that now?"

"Oh, well, Anthony, I thought we were supposed to go in there. If you want to continue to hang outside and be existential, well, I can't stop you. But will you allow me to pass?" Featherhead, inexplicably, looked quite firm in his robes, something that I assure you was not the case last term. I could not remain another minute alone with him. Obviously, he was wearing padding. The tight spots around the shoulders and arms clearly needed tailoring if Featherhead planned to dress himself up to look fit. "I thought we needed to be in there now."

"Oh, of course, of course." Featherhead gestured me in before him. "After you."

"Thank you."

Sitting down, I nodded at those I knew—which were not that many actually. There was redheaded Lily Evans, who I was more or less happy to note, if only because it proved my supposition (and I always delight when that happens) had made Head Girl. She looked a bit nervous, and I am not sure I envied her.

"Congratulations!"

Evans smiled. "Thank you, Evelyn."

Next to Evans was Alice Prewett, a Gryffindor as well, and current girlfriend of one of last year's Gryffindor graduates, Frank Longbottom. "Alice," I said.

"Evelyn."

There was Camilla's replacement of course: Mara Dice, the only other Ravenclaw 6th year girl aside from those whom I have mentioned previously, and a Bigger Bitch anywhere you cannot meet; which is why I am only allowing her this one sentence in my entry for this afternoon and am not going to even greet her.

There was Remus Lupin, 7th year male Prefect for Gryffindor, along with one of the Prewett twins—relation to Alice unclear. I could never tell these twins apart, but both were tall and good-looking enough to warrant a certain obliviousness to my existence, so it never really mattered in any case. I smiled at Remus, because he was giving me a kind look.

There were Marly Harold and Victor Bell, Hufflepuff 6th years, and our resident Golden Couple.

There were various and sundry Slytherins—a couple whom I nodded to. Severus Snape was sneering as always, but he looked in better health than the last two years I have seen him, which is a lucky break! He had gotten rid of that grotesque patchy mustache, for instance.

Also in attendance were the 5th year Prefects. Amelia Selwyn and Lucretia Bordeaux were part of our House's contributions to the list. I only mention the girls, because fifteen-year-old boys are not worth my time.

Every Prefect looked to be accounted for. However Evans was still silent, supposedly waiting for the arrival of the Head Boy, so the two of them could follow tradition and introduce everyone else together.

Five minutes later, and still no Head Boy.

People were starting to get antsy, wanting to get the meeting over with and go back to their original compartments. I was greatly surprised to find that neither Heathcote Barbary nor Alexander Riktus had gotten the spot. Whom it was, I no longer had any clue. Remus Lupin would have been my third choice, but obviously he was not it since he wasn't wearing The Badge.

"Oh, my God. It's not possible!"

I glanced up. That outburst had come from Lily Evans and I could tell this was exactly the wrong kind of impression she wanted to make on everyone. Truly, I could not blame her, because leaning against the open doorway to The Prefect's Compartment, like some muggle movie Romeo, was James Potter, arrogantly displaying his Gryffindor crest on which was nestled a shining, gleaming Head Boy Badge.

I groaned, in firm belief that James Potter as Head Boy was one of the last things Hogwarts' young minds needed. Potter was more the type to run a bawdy house than a Common Room, and he certainly had no business having authority over our point system. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Severus Snape moaning and clutching his stomach like someone about to sick up.

Potter stepped into the room. "Oh, Lily-Flower, I _assure you,_ it is true! Why, I woke up last month and there that owl was—."

"Shut up!" Evans cried. "Just_ shut up! I have to think!"_

Everyone was basically silent, waiting for Evans to think it out. It was not a rare occurrence to see a fight between these two, but I had to admit that that never stopped it from being entertaining. I have always gotten a kick out of seeing Evans's forehead burst into flame like it's doing right now. Those damn redhead genes hit you in the figurative sac every time.

Alice Prewett tried to soothe her friend with a hand on the back but Evans was having none of this comfort and brushed her away. "Please," she said to Potter, "please, tell me this is one of your jokes. Please!"

"Believe me," Potter returned, "I was just as surprised as all of you!"

Well, interesting year up ahead! Cannot wait for The Welcoming Feast if this is the kind of excitement we should all be expecting. I only hope this means our meeting is coming to a short end, because I have further writing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Concerning Queen Evelyn, the Mighty, Mysterious, Last Gryffindor of Ravenclaw and her _Adventures with Sirius Black_**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Harry Potter series, nor is this story intended as a commercial exploit._

**_Chapter Two: The Feast with the Beast  
_**

_The Grounds._

We're getting off the train and making our way to the carriages now. It is very dark and spooky outside. Blustery and biting, like a terrier. Very Scotland In The Fall type weather, and I hate it. Well, I love it and I hate it. It excites the senses and makes my nose freeze. With the giant castle and the mist and the midnight blue lake, the whole ambiance of the school is given an historical aspect.

And Hogwarts is historical (one of the highest compliments, as a Ravenclaw, I will ascribe to anything). It has been around for more than 1,000 years, and I am lucky to go here, really. I almost missed out on this experience.

I'm lucky my parents did not decide to send me to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, like they did my older sister, Blessed Bell Ransom, because of their need for a finished older daughter. Blessed Bell turned out to be A Snob And A Half because she went to a school for snobs, so I am lucky that I got to go to Hogwarts and so turned out the level-headed way I am. I mean, semi-level-headed. I'm not a schizophrenic, at least. Though, saying that, perhaps we should give it time. I am only sixteen, and schizophrenia doesn't develop until one becomes an adult.

"Here they come!" said Camilla excitedly, referring to our ride to the front doors, bringing me back around.

The carriages are made to appear as if they run on their own—as if by magic!—so all the little second years receive the full experience, but they are really pulled by animals called Thestrals. I can't see Thestrals, so I can't vouch through first-hand experience of what they look like, but I've read that a person can only see one if she or he has seen someone else die. Now, that topic's quite morbid, so we won't be talking about it any further. Go read about it somewhere. Getting into the carriage.

I guess I am getting more anxious for the school year to start. I know the train, and the ride to the castle, and the Welcoming Feast, and the leading of our new students to their House Common Rooms is all traditional and all very nice sometimes, but I have been going here enough terms to just want classes to begin already, without pomp. It's Wednesday, so we have an entire five days to "prepare" and cram for classes on Monday, since we need to start with a full week, and so I just wish Monday were here now. It's another example of how our current establishment is fucking with us. I understand the need for acclimatizing students, but Jesus, five days? I could be at home, wandering around my room in my underwear. I want some sleep, not added time in this constricting uniform.

Hmm, do you ever stop and think you might be getting a bit bitter for life? I do on a consistent basis.

After our Prefects' Meeting, which consisted of a lot of forced politeness and barbed looks sent in Potters' direction on Evans's part, we were all given time slots and a section of The Express to monitor. My bad luck that Camilla quit her Prefect-ship last year and I was left with having to deal with Mara Dice for one hour, but so is life. It's preparation for when I work at The Ministry in two years and have annoying colleagues. The Fat Slug most rightly and correctly hates me, just as much as I hate her, so the chore of minding the little kiddies was done with minimal conversation.

The major sore spot during the ride, however, was not being forced to stare at, through magnet-vision, the multitude of Herpes' blemishes surrounding Mara Dice's mouth, but what occurred when I bumped into Sirius Black. Nothing of import really happened there, if I'm honest. Knowledge of his continued existence just ruins my afternoon.

After I had gotten over my momentary brain freeze at seeing Sirius Black appear so close to me, I gave him one of my superior "Aren't-You-A-Stupid-Sad-Man" smiles. It didn't seem to work quite as I wanted it to, because he just proceeded to give me a confused look and meander on his way down the hallway, presumably to create some sort of mischief with his friends, but I think in the future Black will know to watch where he puts his feet, lest he incur greater wrath.

Indeed, I hope this shall be the case.

As Black was walking away, Mara Dice looked at his bottom like it was The Most Glorious Creation Ever. But I, of The Classic And Divine Restraint, forced my eyes straight ahead. It was a great win on my part, and went an enormous way in cheering me up. Two years ago, I would have salivated like a lion over antelope carcass, but that is a story for later.

I will tell it partially now. Realizing, of course, that I have yet to mention Sirius Black up to this point, you need to understand two things:

#1: Black is so often on my mind that it is amazing to me if or when other people need his presence explained.

And #2: Black is such an awful human being that I hate thinking about him and actively try not to do so.

Of course, when you are trying to actively not think of a person, you just end up thinking about that person all the more. I am so stubborn however, that this is not a major set-back for me, and I actively think Black away. In short, as much as I think about Sirius Black, I not think about him more.

Perhaps, I have just contradicted myself. That is alright, however, because this only has to make sense to me, as this is my journal, and not yours.

To wrap things up, I think it will suffice to say that Sirius Black and I have a History together. He is _That Boy._ Not the One Who Got Away—if only because I never had him to begin with, ha—but That First Crush. "The One" who is so soiled in my memory, that he has become a permanent fixture in my soul. I cannot get rid of him. I really want to, but I can't. Black is so beautiful and arrogant that he is un-get-rid-able. However, Black's very existence is useful to me in the fact that it reminds me of how much better a person I am. Which is why I make a point everyday of ragging on him. Immature, but immaturity is expected, isn't it, from a sixteen-year-old? I will be immature all over my shit.

In my head, Black is ever sorry he called me an "ugly cow" in third year.

_The Great Hall._

"I hope you all had a pleasant trip here!" Our Headmaster began his yearly Welcoming Speech that Returning students and Newcomers alike were forced to listen to. In the past, I have tried to enact Muffling Charms so I don't have to listen to Dumbledore's prattle about Things I Am Already Supposed To Know, but The Great Hall, through some quirky forethought of its founders, apparently has an innate magic that prevents this. Oh well. "A very great welcome to our new and returning students! I am so happy to see everyone made it safely back! And a big welcome to our lovely professors as well!" Dumbledore smiled benignly, looking around at the professors sitting next to him and then over at The Gryffindor Table. "I am crossing my fingers, hoping my _mischievous _7th years have decided to leave off on their pranking, if only for this evening! Last year's Leaving Feast was remarkable, boys, despite Professor Levinson's unfortunate accident with the butter knife—though I hear his mutilated nose is being re-grown as I speak—however, we must learn to show restraint when restraint is due! Due to Professor Levinson's, _ahem,_ forced sabbatical, we have a very fine young lady to replace him in D.A.D.A. So all is well that ends well, as they say! Miss Roberts, if you will please stand up and take your bow?"

A thin girl with strawberry hair the consistency of velvet stood up and waved. The Ravenclaw Table cheered as a collective unit. Well, not to say that the table cheered, as that would be odd, but perhaps not entirely out of place at a magical institution. No, I mean, the residents of our table cheered. Enthusiastically, too, since Miss Roberts was a graduate from our House. I remembered her from two years ago, when I was a lumpy 4th year and she was Miss Perfect Princess Head Girl.

Why are they always redheaded? This doesn't bode well for me next term. My hair is some witch's brew mixture of vaginal discharge and feces.

"She looks pretty, doesn't she?" Camille said. "Good for her, to have gotten the position so soon after graduation. She's Bella's age, isn't she, Evie?"

I nodded. "Yes, and thank God, they share nothing else in common. I'm looking forward to seeing how she teaches, though. You know, she showed me around my first year of school?"

"No, I didn't know. Is that where you disappeared to every morning?"

"No, no, not in the mornings. Dear girl, _that_ was me sleeping in. She showed me around in the afternoons, after Potions."

Lucille decided it was time to lean over and interrupt. _"Stop!"_ she hissed, sounding like McGonagall. "You're being rude. You're going to miss something important!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Must not overpower the _hundreds of people_ clapping loudly."

"Rightly so."

I rolled my eyes. Lucy isn't satisfied unless she's harrumphed seven times a night.

The curfuffle died down after another minute and we waited while the Headmaster rose again. "I have every hope that the students responsible have grown up and learnt from past mistakes," Dumbledore continued right where he had left off. Unsurprisingly it has to be said, he did not sound very concerned if the matter turned out either way. More like, he expected it not to and would have been pleased if it hadn't. "We must realize that it is important we are as close as ever this year. We are pushing on tougher times now, and in the darkness, we must always remember, that there shines a light of hope. If only we are willing to see it."

From The Gryffindor Table, a tall, long-haired, classically-handsome boy, rose up from his seat, and under everyone's stares, he preened like a pigeon and expanded with ego. "Oh, _Dumblebucket,_ I agree!"

"Black, sit down this instant!" our Transfigurations Professor, Minerva McGonagall, yelled, like she had been waiting for the opportunity. Professor McGonagall isn't the most patient of women at the best of times. After five years under her tutelage one learns to fly under the radar. When it comes to Sirius Black, however, one learns nothing. McGonagall is as cold as the reeds in our lake to him, but it just seems to fuel Black's idiot-ness. "I will brook no tomfoolery in this Hall!" In her exhilaration, McGonagall's pointy hat was in danger of dropping fully off her head. "Sit down now!"

"But, McGonagall! My heart! I did not mean to offend!" said Black. "Your words cut me deeply! I was expressing myself, and you cut into me like a knife! Yes! I am _skewered_ on the blade of my own passion! Much like Rombleton is skewered on his blade in Shaker's play!" Every girl in The Hall giggled.

"That is enough, Mr. Black!" Professor McGonagall said. "Cease this disruption and sit down now!"

Sirius Black pouted. "I don't want to! Look around, Minnie Mouse! They love when I stand up! What kind of wizard would I be, to deprive my audience of such a glorious opportunity?"

"Feast for the eyes!" Potter, Black's best friend, fellow annoying cohort, and oh yes, _Head Boy,_ added. Though to give Potter his credit, which I hate doing, he looked to finally be accepting his new role as disciplinarian by trying to yank Black back onto the bench. Black shook him off and winked at the crowd.

"Oh!" Professor McGonagall glared at them. "Dumbledore, this is unacceptable!"

"Yes, yes, Minerva," the Headmaster said with a sigh. "I know. Boys!" he addressed the Gryffindor 7th years as a whole, which I thought funny but a little unfair. On Potter's left, it looked like Remus Lupin was trying to sink into his seat and become unnoticeable, "Please refrain from any rough-housing until you get to your Common Room. That goes for everyone in my Hall. You are full of _joie de vivre_ from a summer away, and I understand this, but you must remember that Hogwarts is a place of learning." Not looking very placated, Professor McGonagall sat down, as did Black. "One more thing of note, my children: The Forbidden Forest, as always, remains Forbidden. Now, I believe it is time we all tucked in! Thank you! Oh, my! _Raspberry Tarts!" _The Headmaster gathered up his trailing beard and hurriedly got down from the dais.

"Merlin!" said Lucille, once people could start talking again. "Can you believe him?"

"Are you referring to Sirius Black or Professor Dumbledore?" Camilla, who was sitting on my other side, asked breathlessly; perhaps a little charmed despite herself, though who knows why. "Because I can believe anything of Sirius Black. Anything! That boy practically runs our school!"

I looked up from my writing, offended. "No, he does not. No, he does not, Camilla! And I won't hear a word otherwise! You want to know who runs our school? I will tell you: that fool diabetic, candy-loving man who just gave a speech runs our school. Not some trumped up schoolboy with a fetish for sparkly scarves!"

Lucille rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows you hate him. No need to go on about it every day and Sunday."

"I do not go—."

"_Who_ do you hate?" Tamara asked, focused intently on my face, and leaning in more to better hear my answer. "I never thought you could hate anybody, Evie! You're too nice!"

"Thank you," I said, surprised.

Lucille smiled at Tamara. "That was very nice, Tammy! But really, Evelyn, you're going to have to stop going on about him so much. He has spies! Any one of them could hear you now. You saw how the entire hall shut up just to listen to him. You put one toe out of line and we'll be worse off than third year."

"Spies in Ravenclaw?" I asked. "I don't believe it."

"Believe it!" Lucille said, cocking her head in the direction of Fat Lump Mara Dice. I glanced over as well.

"She could squeeze you like a pimple," warned Lucille.

"Like one of her pimples," I muttered, going back to my food, as it looked more important.

Tamara started giggling. "Evie!" she said, scandalized. "That's mean!"

"I am sorry," I replied. Not Contrite At All. "I'm a bad influence on you. You shouldn't listen to me."

"True," Lucy said, and then actually proceeded to coax Tamara's attention away from me, and onto the serving dishes. Ah, good girl.

I looked to my right at Camilla, wondering why she was being so silent during these proceedings. Cam was a sweet girl, but she hated Mara Dice with more fire than I did. "What's up?" I said. I gestured at the assortment of foods we had available; Camilla's plate was empty. Noting how thin she was already, this was not a good development. She needed to stuff her sweet face full of potatoes if my self-esteem was going to have any hope of surviving the night. "Why aren't you eating? It's going to all disappear soon and then you'll be sorry."

Camilla shrugged. "You know it replenishes anyway. And I'm not hungry."

"It doesn't matter if you are or aren't. Big night ahead and all. You should be eating, dear. What with trudging up to The Common Room and going straight to bed. We need to stuff ourselves so we hit a food coma, darling."

"I'll get something in a few," Camilla assured me. "I just want to think for a minute."

I waited a long minute, hoping Cam would enlighten me as to what she wanted to think about. "And?"

"I miss Alex," she mumbled finally. "We shouldn't have broken up."

I gasped. "Blasphemer!"

"It's true!" Camilla said. "We were good together, you know it! Two years, Evie! He's the only boy I've ever known for two years! What am I supposed to do now that he's gone?"

"Laugh?" I suggested. "Smile? Live life as you were meant to live it without some whip-cracker at your bottom? You're supposed to not be thinking about him. It's our Cardinal Rule. We made up a whole list this summer, remember? And what was at the top? No Thinking About Alex Riktus Whatsoever. And now you've broken it. Shame."

"It was a stupid list," grumbled Camilla. "I shouldn't have to stick by it. Rules were meant to change. I'm thinking of getting back together with him, anyway."

"Has he said something to you?" I asked suspiciously. One of my jobs as Best Friend was to make sure reuniting with the evil man did not happen. Camilla was not meant to be with Alexander Riktus. Riktus was a devil-worshipper so reunification boded ill for their future offspring. "You should tell me if he is harassing you, Cam. I'll bring it up at the next Prefects' Meeting. Featherbutt should be able to do something about it."

Camilla laughed, momentarily diverted by the topic at hand. "His name is Feather_head," _she corrected. "He can't like you calling him that. And why do you, by the way? I've forgotten."

I smirked in remembrance. "I transfigured a bird's tail onto his arse once. It was magnificent."

"_You_ did that!"

"_Keep it down!" _I said. "No one really knows! They think Lucius Malfoy did it."

"But you look nothing like him!" Camilla said. "Why would they think that?"

"Having your arse transfigured by a Slytherin boy, especially one who graduated four years ago, is_ infinitely_ more manly-sounding than having it transfigured by a _girl,"_ I replied, snickering. "And Anthony swore me not to tell. It was his price for not running to a professor and making me serve detention. Though I think he was being unjust. He was the one who tripped me up in the hallway and made me rip my tights. They were never the same after that. Not even my mum could _reparo_ them. And look at him, a prefect now. Perhaps that would have never come to pass."

"It's 'Anthony' now, is it?" Camilla asked, latching onto the only thing that would naturally interest her. "Intriguing!"

"Not really," I demurred. "He's pretty boring, if you ever get a chance to talk with him. Fat head with a fatter arse."

Camilla shook her head. "No. I meant that it's intriguing you call him names when you obviously like him—."

"Look!" I interrupted, pointing at the table with my fork. "Scalloped potatoes! Yum! May I serve you some?"

_Ravenclaw 6th year Girl's Dorm Room._

"So, to commence our meeting of the minds, Evie, will you give us a speech?"

Confused, and absolutely not wanting to give a speech at all, I said, "But I thought I was doing the minutes! I always do the minutes!"

"Will you just say something already?" Mara Dice exclaimed, yanking a pillow away from her eyes and glaring at me. She was sitting up in bed, wearing a silk nightgown, and looking like a big frou-frou spotty elephant. "I hate that we have to do this. _Why_ do we have to do this every year? I just want some fucking sleep. I don't even _like _you all that much!"

"Hey!" Lucille barked, coming to my defense, as I looked to be made uncharacteristically speechless by Mara's tactlessness. "You know this is Tradition. You _know_ we have to do this, Mara. Once you graduate, I am sure you will have fond memories of this. Mark my words."

"I hate all of you!" Mara grumbled. "But, continue, Ransom." She gave me a rather nasty smile. "Make your speech. I know how _good_ of a public speaker you are! Third year, wasn't it, when you wet your pants?"

"I thought we weren't set on the speech-maker yet," I said, valiantly disregarding her. I hated Bad Attention. "I am a much better note-taker. I don't see why Lucille ca—."

"Fine!" Lucille interrupted. "I'll do it." She paused to clear her throat. "…On this day, Wednesday, September 1st, 1976, the 6th year Ravenclaw Girls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry hereby acknowledge and welcome the coming year into our minds and hearts and bodies, in the specific hope that at term's end in July, we and our families _will be alive_ and we will have accomplished what we set out to accomplish ten months ago."

"And what was that?" Camilla asked the room.

I was already flipping through my journal.

"I can't find it," I told her apologetically. "I forgot that I start a new one each summer."

"Oh, for _Merlin's_ sake!" Mara said. "Get this over with, Lucille! I have summer homework to finish tomorrow."

"Time management," I tsk-ed, under my breath.

"_Fine,"_ said Lucy, shooting me a warning look. "Everyone, grab the hand of the person sitting next to you."

"I am not getting up!" Mara felt the need to remind us. "I am all tucked in. And I am not touching sticky Camilla's hand anyway. She probably has semen smeared all over it. I've heard the rumors."

I frowned. "Hey!"

"This isn't _my _tradition," Mara added.

"It used to be," whispered Lucille. "Before you went all Betrayer on us."

"What was that?" Mara asked.

"Nothing," I said. "Why don't you go to sleep? I agree with you about this not involving you anymore. You are, in fact, ruining the peaceful environment we've been trying to establish for the past fifteen minutes. You're superfluous to these proceedings."

"_Fine!" _said Mara, immediately picking up her wand and spelling her bed curtains shut. Camilla and I exchanged pleased glances when she added a Silencing Charm; that meant we could gossip about Mara all we wanted and she wouldn't be any the wiser as to what we were talking about. We are a little rude, after all.

I gave a salute. "Well rid of you, fat beast!" I turned my head only to receive Lucy's severe look.

"You didn't have to do that," she said. "You could have been more diplomatic about it."

"In the future," I said, "Tamara will handle all our diplomacy."

"What's 'diplomacy'?" Tamara asked, sounding pleased that she was finally being addressed.

I gave her a wary look. "Pardon?"

"_Let's finish up!" _Lucille ordered loudly. "What are all our wishes for this year?"

"I would like to get a boyfriend!" said Tamara at once.

"Well, that should be easy." I smiled at her, envying for a moment her glossy brown hair and perfect tan skin. Boys liked shiny things. Damn. "You get hit on all the time."

"That is true," said Lucille. "I can help you there." Lucille smiled at all of us around the circle. I felt her squeeze my hand; evidently I was back in her good graces, though, Merlin knows how long that will last. Probably halfway through my next breath. "My wish is for me to do better in Astronomy."

"An admirable one!" I replied. I wanted to encourage staying on topics other than that of Boys for fear some of us would get a bit too silly. Astronomy was a good choice. A quick glance at Camilla told me that she didn't quite appreciate this change in subject.

"What about you, Evie?" Tamara asked.

I paused, remembering #1 on My List from earlier today. "I would like to get on The Quidditch Team," I admitted.

"Really?" Lucy said. I had no way to tell if her enthusiasm was faked. _"That's great!_ Have you been pract—?"

"_I_ have a wish," Camilla put in before Lucy could finish her sentence. "Like Tamara, I'd like to get a boyfriend. Preferably the one I just had."

I started groaning. "Camilla!"

"_What?"_


	3. Chapter 3

**Concerning Queen Evelyn, the Mighty, Mysterious, Last Gryffindor of Ravenclaw and her _Adventures with Sirius Black_**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Harry Potter series, nor is this story intended as a commercial exploit._

_**Chapter Three: A Dote in the Note****, or A Prig Named Stuart Diggory**_

_Ravenclaw 6__th__ Year Girls' Dorm Room._

Morning. The sun is stubborn, and ignoring my threats, blatantly and disrespectfully shining through the window and right into my face. I woke with my bed curtains hanging open. I am not sure what this means. If Camilla or Lucille, or dare I suggest it, _Mara,_ pulled some prank on me, but I hope nothing dire has happened. My sheets feel clean and I don't have surprise spots, so it's probably generic school-bred paranoia at work. Mornings usually leave me feeling discombobulated. I have always hated them.

When I was little, and getting up in the mornings wasn't a prescribed part of the day, I used to sleep in like a fat sultan. And I was happier than pie. Now I attend Hogwarts and have my mornings dictated to me. It is one of life's gross unfairities that we are made, like teenage ants, to get up at 0600, and trudge to class, and be expected to produce spells. Nowhere in any sea scrolls ever has it specified the time one should arrive at class. Perhaps it is assumed that we never stop working, which would be just like the Old Testament God. If this is the case, God, I must say to you: I am no Job. If a spell were to come along that made mornings my thing, well, I would enjoy them, but that spell has not yet been invented, which is why the person who opened my curtains is going to pay in blood! If I can remember my anger when I find her.

Admittedly, I usually cannot. Especially on our first day of classes. Merlin heard my wish in the carriage ride and scattered speed-up spell over our little heads during the night. It isn't really the 6th of September, but the 2nd. I feel more scatterbrained right now than that time Professor Binns was propositioned for sex by Lady Ravenclaw. Shame, those two never made it as a couple. Binns post-ejaculation would be a happy man to be around. Looking for my shoes.

Now, I know I said I wanted classes to start the very day after The Welcoming Feast, but that's obviously not true anymore. I'd rather classes not start at all. I want more sleepy break time. I _need _more sleep, because it is not proper to be up before your stomach is ready to be up. We are leaving to get some breakfast, Lord knows why, since we have nowhere we need to be this early, since class doesn't start till 0900, but the clock is evidently ticking.

Not being the world's thinnest witch, I sometimes like to entertain the idea, during mornings when my stomach is all a-gurgle, that I have some disgusting bowel disease, like IBS, or some ulcer of the stomach; and therefore have to consume vast quantities in order to meet the demands of chronic diarrhea. I simply cannot function in normal society when I am around food, you see. We all know the real reason fatter people can't function normally around food has nothing to do with IBS and everything to do with the fact that all food tastes like cake, but, shh, let me delude myself for a minute. IBS and stomach ulcers are both Muggle ailments, however, it is not too insane an idea that I have _wished _some sicknesses on me. I am a witch and the power of thought is strong in me.

"Are we coming?" The "Royal-we." And it sounds exasperated. Lucille is foaming at the mouth again, most likely because her medication has run out. It has nothing to do with me.

I closed my notebook_—sigh—_and gathered up my other school things, including my thermos of water that I had filled in the bathroom, and, most importantly, my wand. "Yes!" I looked around and made sure I really had not forgotten anything. "I am ready, you witch."

"Well good, because we've been waiting for you to finish writing for fifteen minutes!" said Lucille.

"It hasn't been that long, surely?"

"Oh yes!" she said. "You were far too slow. Camilla and Tammy are actually waiting downstairs for you to get your fat lump of an arse moving."

Taking exception to that, I said, "I do not have a fat lump of an arse, and you know it. It's actually quite a nice bottom. Would you like to touch it? It's not squishy, see?"

"No!" cried Lucille. I am not sure it warranted such a cry, but no matter. Lucille is just jealous. "I would not!" She started walking hurriedly down the hall to the stairs. "Now, let's go!"

Soaking into the spirit of the march, I followed Lucille down the twisting stairway of Ravenclaw Tower and into our Common Room. Camilla immediately stood up from one of the chaises. "You're here! Finally! You don't know how long I've been waiting for this breakfast. My stomach is eating itself right now."

I slung an arm around Cam's shoulder. "Oh, push off, you won't be eating anything anyway," I commented. "You're as thin as my little finger. If you can fit a sip of tea into that thimble-sized stomach, I'll be surprised."

"Evie!"

_Potions Classroom._

One thing you have to understand about Professor Slughorn is that he means well. He may be odd but he's sincere in his efforts most of the time. Anyway, he's old, so normality doesn't even matter, does it? He's lost the battle before the first cannon fired. If he walked into the classroom with scratches on his face, duck semen on his hands, and his wand up his nose, we'd still all greet him with a perfunctory, "Hello, professor, looking well. What potion do you have for us today?"

And if Slughorn said, "Coodle-da-boo, my ninnies, I ate a privy and it tasted fine" we'd all just nod, and say, "I thought you had" and get on with business. Potions are like that; just as finicky, just as old, and some of them smell like week-old sweat mixed with denture cream.

Sometimes, I'll let you know, I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. So if this is nonsensical, well, it's only your fault for reading it, isn't it?

Privately in my thoughts, I usually reserve no patience for people who only mean well, like Professor Slughorn, but out loud, of course I voice the opposite. He is my professor and in charge of my grade for one. And for two, contrary to what others, usually Non-Slug-Club Members think, he is really not a bad man. He is not a Death Eater for instance. These days, saying he's "not a Death Eater" is basically like saying, "Well, at least he's not Satan" but I find it a good description of Professor Slughorn's character. He is _not_ a Death Eater. He just smells like one.

"Miss Ransom? _Miss Ransom!" _And that means a lot, especially considering my sensitive olfactory bulb. "Miss Ransom!"

I felt Lucille kick me. "Hmm, yes, Professor?"

Slughorn smiled like he and I were in on a joke. _"Thank you_ for taking such diligent notes, Miss Ransom! But in the future, I would like it more if you did not get so absorbed. I have been calling your name for the past minute. In the end I had to enlist Miss Sawyers's help, and a fine job she did in re-orienting you! It would not be a good thing at all if an accident were about to occur and we couldn't move you to a safe location because you were off in your own world. Now, I know Potions is your favorite subject, but…"

Ah yes. Over the summer I forgot how long-winded our professor could be. My mind worked furiously to tune him out. Perhaps, he felt he had to be even more long-winded, now that we were in NEWT territory.

"Class dismissed."

"_What?"_

The class started laughing. "I see one thing can still get your attention, Ms. Ransom!" Professor Slughorn said good-naturedly. "Pity, it is not me! Oh, to be so young and full of pizzazz!"

"_Professor!_ I don't know what kind of student you take me for…"

"Miss Ransom, 'pizzazz' means life."

I blushed. "Oh. Well, sorry, professor, mistakes do happen." What is this pizzazz? I thought pizzazz was bread with cheese and tomato sauce. I actively wished class _would _end now. Advanced Potions was not turning out to be a favorite. How it could when it was so goddamn early in the morning, I don't know, but I found it to be well enough before everyone started looking at me. This is why I like writing. Books don't talk back to you or make judgments.

"Now to move on!" Professor Slughorn said, with a wink directed my way, "I would like to briefly go over the potion we are brewing this morning; a thin, clear liquid most of you know as, Doxycide."

Over in the corner, Samariah Smith, a Hufflepuff who had the unfortunate task of being partnered with Mara, The Great Lump of Eastwick, raised her hand uncertainly.

"Yes, Miss Smith?" Professor Slughorn said.

"Sir," Smith said, "Isn't Doxycide extremely flammable? Only I heard it—."

Professor Slughorn chuckled. "Not to worry, Miss Smith!" He addressed the class as a whole, "And anyone else who has any reservations about our brewing this, please, do not worry! In a controlled environment, with a Potions Master at hand, like myself, brewing Doxycide can be a fun and _enlightening _experience! Do not cavil! We are going to give it a try and see how we do. If you don't finish the assignment, please remember that you can come in during my office hours, 12:00-15:00, Friday and Saturday, to tweak it to your heart's content. This is a NEWT level class, but rest assured, I do not fail students for not finishing Ministry-Standard potions within an hour's time."

"He only makes them bend over for a little how's your mother."

Lucille giggled. "Stop that!"

"That would be unreasonable of me," Slughorn said, in what I thought for a moment was a direct response to my comment. "My duty as a professor, is to be _here_ for you. Saying that, I would like you all to refer to your syllabus over the weekend and review the pages concerning your end of term project. I want to be informed of your topic choices two weeks hence. For those of you who would like to collaborate with another student, please note, that you may choose amongst the 7th years as well."

Lucy and I shared a smile. "Well, that'll be us," I said. "7th years, ahoy. We're incompetent as anything."

"Especially you."

During the next hour and a half, Slughorn walked around the room with his hands behind his back, whistling what sounded suspiciously like a Rollicking Warlock song, and inspecting our Doxycides. As his known favorite for 6th year, my potion was given more scrutinized attention I imagine a pot of cream gets from McGonagall, cat and human form alike. I should be used to Professor Slughorn standing behind my back and breathing on me, but as it happens, surprisingly, one never gets used to that sort of thing. I suppose it's my aversion to rapists. Some girls seem to like that attention, but I prefer my space to not be troubled by mouth-breathers or mad men out to sniff at my knickers. Slughorn is basically harmless, however, we all know it. Most potions professors are. If you aren't harmless, you don't choose a profession that involves wading through animal fluids and sifting out the better parts. Only men who have no concept of how they appear to the fairer sex do that, and this man with gusto. Yes, Slughorn is an asexual.

_The Great Hall._

"So!" Camilla and Tamara joined us at The Table. "How were classes?"

Lucille scoffed. "McGonagall's out to get me again!" she said. "First day, and how many points does that blousy crow take away from me?"

Tamara took the bait. "How many?"

"Fifteen!" Lucille said, banging a fist on The Table, and making people look over. "She took away _fifteen_ points!"

Camilla frowned. "That is a bit harsh, even for McGonagall," she agreed. Tamara nodded her head and Lucille actually glared at me until I followed suit.

"Yes, Lucille. That's _awful."_

"Did you stay after to ask her about it?" Cam asked.

"Yes!" Lucille said grumpily.

"And what did she say?"

"She said that she was disappointed I couldn't at least hold off on passing notes until she was finished speaking. But I wasn't passing notes! Stuart Diggory from Hufflepuff handed a note to Evelyn, but that was it. And it wasn't even from him! If anything, Evie and Diggory should have gotten the detention."

"Who was the note from?" asked Camilla. Lucille refused to answer and decided instead to apply herself to eating her ham sandwich. "Lucy?" Camilla looked to me. "Evie, who was the note from?"

I grinned hugely. "Remus _Lu_pin!"

Tamara started clapping her hands. "Oh!"

_The Grounds_

Rewind.

I am sure you are all just as confused as me as to what has happened. Did a page or two fall out of my journal? Did I forget to write the Blessed Event down?

No and no.

I have just needed at least five hours to digest what happened in McGonagall's classroom this afternoon, because as so far as I know, Lucy has never talked to a boy. I think she thought they couldn't talk back.

Not that she's a lesbian. And not that there is anything wrong with lesbians in general; actually, it would fit in quite nicely with Lucille's snappish personality. It's just that Remus Lupin, observably, is a male, and lesbians date females. Lucille, before, today, has dated no one. So, the Big News You Only Heard A Smidge Of Previously is as follows:

Remus Lupin apparently fancies Lucille!

That is the only reason Camilla and Tamara can come up with for why this particular Gryffindor 7th year has suddenly decided to pay attention to our particular friend. It's an accurate guess, I suppose. And one with merit, because Lucille just so happens to be outrageously good-looking. In the beginning of 5th year, when Lucille came back from Summer Break looking like a nubile young woman, none of the boys could keep their eyes off of her. They whistled and fondled as she came down the hallway, and some days, Lucille had to resort to using Bubble-Body Charms just to get to class unmolested. It was awful, really. I mean, I can't relate, having never in my life been that attractive, but I am sure the undying sexual devotion of all males everywhere must get annoying sometimes. Really, I am.

It became increasingly hard to have a proper conversation with Lucille last year, because she was always on the look-out, always paranoid that some arsehole would jump out from nowhere and sit next to her and strike up a conversation, so her defenses adapted to striking out at first contact. I would say "Hello" and Lucille would say _"For the last time, _I will not go out with you!" From our years as wallflowers, Lucille never really learned how to deal with talking to boys, so she just didn't. And as a result, for about a year, she was always very short with us. I could feel Lucille's desperation to ignore these boys like a physical thing, and in the end, the attention worked the wrong way, and Lucy became cynical.

Philosophically, it seems like it was due to happen, anyway; the letter "c" is in both words. The more cynical Lucy became, however, the harder it was for the boys to talk to her, and eventually, most stopped trying.

As a self-proclaimed "ugly duckling,"—excuse me while I laugh for a minute—Luce is now so against superficial surfaces, that anyone who is even remotely, passably good-looking immediately drops several degrees in her esteem. If you are thick, do not bother talking to Lucy unless you just happen to be ugly as well, because that means she can pity you. But if you are thick and _handsome,_ well, my friend, there is no hope for you, I'm afraid.

Most teenage boys are thick—thick as your mother after Yule cakes—so this is why you will never see Lucille talking to one.

Until now.

Remus Lupin is either extremely confident or, well, I was going to say extremely stupid, but as we've seen with Potter, those two things aren't exclusionary. Especially if you're a Gryffindor. We Ravenclaws have our faults but failure to notice the concrete in front of us isn't one of them.

I am suspicious like a Mother Superior noticing for the first time how her novice's habit doesn't completely cover her head; there's a wisp of Hester Prynne hair flying out, and it's my job to shove it back in, and go on my way. Remus Lupin is best friends with not only Potter but Sirius Black. In my experience, all good-looking boys have agendas. It is just up to us girls to figure out what in Merlin's name they are on about; honestly, we need dictionaries. To discover that a good-looking boy with a reputation for mischief wants to pass notes with one of my dearest friends, causing said dearest friend to giggle, well, Lucille is only manic when I'm acting up.

I have already done a Spell-Check. Lupin hasn't sent anything Lucille's way. And Lucille did not take an Excitable Draught during lunch, before attending Transfiguration Class, though it would explain away her Parkinsonian hand tremors.

Something is still in the air, however, and _mark me,_ it is not love.

_Transfiguration Classroom, Five Hours Previous._

"Pst! Pst!"

"What the hell?" Since Lucille would not turn her head, I felt I had to. "What is going on?" A tanned hand with a signet ring on the pinky finger appeared, handing over a crumpled piece of paper. I took it automatically. "What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, wondering why Stuart Diggory was giving me trash. The days when Stuart Diggory could give me trash were long over, though he evidently wishes they were back again.

"It's for Sawyers," Diggory said, going back to his work. McGonagall was currently giving us The Evil-Eye from a faraway position behind her desk, and because of this I had no doubt detention—unpalatable as it was since I've never had one—was in our future for tonight.

Slightly annoyed, I nevertheless replied, "Lucille's sitting right next to me, Diggory. You can't give it to her? Go on, reach a bit more. I know you can do it!"

"I can't," whispered Diggory, moving his lips as little as possible. "McGonagall could look over."

"She's looking over now," I said. "And what prevented you from waiting 'til after class, then?" Diggory, the fool, kept his head down. "Hufflepuffs," I murmured—hopefully sounding derogatory. "Luce," I nudged her unnecessarily—Lucille was already holding out her hand under the table. "You've got a love-note, it seems."

_"It's not from me!" _was Diggory's hiss.

"Well, I didn't say it was!" I said, not bothering to turn around. "Luce, if you would be so kind: please, read the note that is not from Diggory, but sent via him…from some unknown."

"I'll read it after class," she said.

I did not like that at all. "Lucy Sawyers, you will read that note right now!"

"You can't make me!" said Lucille primly. "I am my own person, and I'd like to see you try."

"Lucy Sawyers!"

"Stop it!" Lucy commanded. "McGonagall is looking over."

If anything can bring me around to attention, it is the inevitable, verbal chastising of a professor, so for the next ten minutes, I was a very good girl and said not a word to Lucille about anything—even when I heard her giggle.

"Has everyone finished copying down the assignment for Wednesday?" Professor McGonagall asked the class. We all nodded. "Good." The professor made a pretense of looking around the room for a volunteer until her eyes settled on me. "Miss Ransom!" she called, sounding like a madam. "Please come up here and demonstrate The Animus Spell."

The NEWT class, which was filled to the brim with Ravenclaws and Slytherins and just a scant few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors alike, groaned; groaned, because everyone knows I am awesome at Transfiguration, and naturally these points are mine. I just have to show these bints that what they've gotten used to over the past five years, me being an incorrigible Smarty-pants, is not going to change. Which, I did.

After class, McGonagall did indeed make Diggory and I stay behind; though with us was also Lucille, radiating fear.

"I am very disappointed in you!" the professor began with pursed lips, eyes looking over the tops of her bifocal glasses, "Very disappointed." All three of us made an effort to hold up our heads and meet McGonagall's basilisk stare, but Merlin,was it hard-going. "Very disappointed. Miss Sawyers, Miss Ransom, it was my hope that the summer break would have taught you two some discipline, but it seems I am wrong. You are just as bad, if not worse, than last year! Giggling like little ninny hammers! It's _disgraceful!"_ Professor McGonagall paused, evidently waiting for Lucille and me to add in a comment.

"Sorry, Professor McGonagall," I said.

"Sorry, Professor McGonagall," Lucille echoed. Diggory remained silent, though I knew he was grinning with triumph on the inside for not getting the figurative slap on the wrist as well. That's fine, he may not visibly have a vagina, but we know he has one inside.

McGonagall nodded. "You will find that NEWT Transfiguration is a Serious Class," she said. "We study Serious Things here. And I want you both to Seriously Consider why you are in this class now. If things do not look up, if your behavior does not improve, well, I do not see any reason for allowing you to remain in my NEWT class. Detention won't be all you'll receive. Is that what you want?" Professor McGonagall demanded. "To be kicked out?"

"No, ma'am!" I said.

"No, ma'am," Lucille echoed. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Professor McGonagall evidently meant Diggory to answer as well for her head swiveled to him; and so he did.

"No, ma'am."

The professor stared us down for another half-minute. During which I began to get Very Bored. "Very well," she said finally, already beginning to shuffle the papers on her desk into a neat pile. I believe this was done in an effort to drive home the fact that we were no longer important. "You may go."

Lucille and I started to trudge out.

"Miss Sawyers!" called Professor McGonagall, halting all three of us. "Mr. Diggory and Miss Ransom may go. You, I would like to remain behind."

"Uh-oh," I said.

Free from the room, Diggory walked away without any goodbye to me whatsoever. I comforted myself with a sneer at his back, wishing Dire Things To Happen To His Uterus. Lacking the courage to enact an Eavesdropping Charm on Professor McGonagall's door, I waited Lucy out.

Twenty seconds later, she joined me outside the classroom.

"Well?" I said.

"Well what?" responded Lucille annoyingly.

"Well, what did she do? Did she make you give her the note?"

"Of course."

I sighed. "Figures." Following a hunch I asked, "Did you get to read it during class, though?"

I wasn't surprised when Lucy only shrugged. She knows I like knowing these things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Concerning Queen Evelyn, the Mighty, Mysterious, Last Gryffindor of Ravenclaw and her _Adventures with Sirius Black_**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Harry Potter series, nor is this story intended as a commercial exploit._

**_Chapter Four: The Stitch From the Witch  
_**

_Ravenclaw Tower._

"Ah, got you now, you great sneaky thing! How's it feel to be the one hit in the nose this time, huh? Huh?"

"Oi! Cunt!"

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Now, we couldn't have _that._ "Hey, now!" I said, in my most commanding voice. "Only I may throw spells! Get back here!" I raised my wand and fired a warning shot, which hit the window and evaporated. Of course, no one was impressed. I watched, as the normally very staid Quirinus Quirrel, hopped his way across Patrick Carrington's neck. In another corner, Heathcote Barbary, of the magnificent physique, tried to show off his Quidditch skills to standers-by by flying his broom around the room. Only the ceiling wasn't high enough for that, and he cracked the top of his head, much to the hilarity of his mates.

I came back from Dinner, and this is what started happening. The dessert gave everyone a massive sugar high, and people are literally jumping around and smashing things. Not just chess pieces either, but other peoples' heads.

I see Mara Dice, lazing in the corner, reading a Bertram Russell book with our other fat Prefect, Humphrey Hubert, so they have perhaps developed enough glucose-resistance to remain unaffected. I suppose they'd need a bear's dosing each of whatever it was that was in the Treacle Tart, while the rest of us, just ate a human's share. I'm immune of course, not because I'm fat, but because I'm on a diet.

This kind of behavior, this kind of reckless endangerment and disregard for the surroundings of others', smacks of pubescent prank. Obviously, not that I considered even for a moment a professor would have started this riot, but the kind of definitive adjective we need for this situation requires a distinctive pube-ish quality. The kind of quality, which, only a handful of people in this institution have the temerity for. And only one person is always at the top of my list of genuine bad apples.

Suspiciously, I waved a diagnostic spell. No point in not verifying what I thought to be true. _"Comperiō!"_ The entirety of Hogwarts was most likely drugged with some type of Happy Potion or Euphoria Elixir, and it'll turn into a stupid mess in a minute, because I'll have to alert Flitwick, who will alert Dumbledore, who will then lightly reprimand Sirius Black—this spell tells me, he is indeed the culprit—with a swat on the bottom or some sort of therapist session involving lemon drops and Calming Draughts. And my night will still be ruined, because I wanted to go to bed early, and I am not. Why does this have to happen every year? I mean, _every year?_ Can't we have a reprieve? I am sick of welcome-year pranks.

"Evelyn! That is a Restricted Section spell!" said Camilla, rushing to my side, and staring at my wand as if it were a Dark artifact. It had gotten the intended result, so that's all that mattered.

"Oh, hush, you great marmee!" I said. "I have a lovely bed to get to and these people are blocking my way. Where is our Featherbutt? Out snogging some girl, is he? Well, see that I see he gets a bad time of it when I bring up this reticence to help a fellow student in our next Prefects Meeting. I could have been accosted and then where would we be?"

"Evie, he's not in the room. He can't help you."

"Yes, see? He is not helping by being absent. I'm going to share that with Evans, too. He's probably off milking his owl, because he's a pervert."

Camilla sighed. "Does he ever show up, Evie? I doubt he's being deliberately cruel. Several people haven't made it back from Dinner yet."

"And so they are suspect," I stated. "Here, since we seem to be Prefect-less for the moment, help me sort this mess out. We need something to silence them, like a tazer, and we need it fast."

"Just wait it out," suggested Camilla. "Look, I've already notified Professor Flitwick. And they seem to be calming down."

We heard a _boom!_ and looked as one unit over to the girls stair case, where there seemed to be smoke rising.

"Do you think that was Mara, genes reverting on themselves? Yes, indeed, Cam, apparently the smoke is going to asphyxiate everyone into unconsciousness. Then we'll be very calm."

Camilla, of course, sighed again.

Lucille, seeming to disagree that harsh, more corporal, measures were necessary—or even measures at all—to corral the Ravenclaws, sat her arse down on one of the armchairs not being jumped upon, took a file out of her handbag, and blithely started editing her nails.

That's all that needs to be mentioned about Lucy, really. She either whole-heartedly believes in my aptitude for discipline or, and much more likely since it's _true,_ was struck by the importance of a hang-nail.

Camilla is on my side at least. She and Tamara are huddling now in the corner, avoiding falling plaster lest it hit their perfect hair and ruin everything. She obviously finds it odd that every Ravenclaw in our Common Room has suddenly and inexplicably turned feral, even if her methods of correction leave something else to be desired; though, seeing as how every child in this room respects our Head of House, I suppose it was good that Camilla had notified Flitwick. I'm not sure I'd be able to justify spelling what basically amounted to the entire Ravenclaw student body. Hmmm, one can wish, can't she?

"You lot!" I called, magnifying my voice with a _Sonorus._ "Professor Flitwick has been notified, thanks to a diligent student. If he doesn't show up within the next five minutes, however, I will begin handing out _Deprimuses_ like they're candy. You all know about my _Deprimuses._ Some boys have been known to cry. Coming down from that high unnaturally will be depressing. Do I make myself clear?"

I wish Heathcote Barbary really had been in his right mind, because I received a wink and a genital grasp after that statement. Well, Heathcote was either supplying me with an invitation or scratching at an itch, but it looked beautiful, whatever it was. Flitwick came in short order soon after, and with a wave of his wand completely dissipated the affects of Black's silly potion, and all returned to normal.

Sometimes, I don't know why I'm a Prefect. I hate being counted among these vapid peers. If tonight can be used as an example, _and it can,_ we are not all operating on the same level of intelligence. I mean, one should know to not touch the dessert, really. The Gryffindors always do this to us. Perhaps it's Stockholm Syndrome at work and we've all gotten used to the abuse, in my case learned to expect it, and have fallen in love anyway, but it is still rather depressing. I just don't seem to get along with these people anymore. Most of them, I mean. Camilla, Lucille, and even sometimes Tamara, despite them being enormous bints, are alright. Sometimes, they are actually fabulous, and I do love them, even if I have a bad way of showing it. The rest of students in my year, however, I think can rot. _"Muteo,"_ I murmured, at one evil little minion in front of me, seeing that no one else was looking.

"Evelyn!"

"Oh, _alright,"_ I said, still unwilling to let go of the image of my brother flapping his lips with no sound coming out. His shoulders hunched up when he noticed his glares weren't having any effect and he looked in the process of forming a proper tantrum. "Mummy's not here to punish me, is she?"

If I haven't mentioned my brother before, well, I'm not sorry. His name is Apollon, and he really does not care that I'm a Prefect, or that I might have feelings. If any higher power, such as Flitwick, were to glance over and ask, I have every confidence that I can explain my punitiveness was justified. No other prefect was concerned enough to help out anyhow.

The occasion of Apollon glaring at me isn't really an occasion so I am prepared to continue ignoring it. It is downright commonplace. The Story (or how our mum tells it) goes that my brother came out of our mother's womb with a sneer already on his face, ordering the Mediwife to "Cut the damn cord so I can breathe on my own." Over the years, Polly has only grown more unnatural. We recently discovered that he is a child genius, and this has turned him into an Unbelievably Arrogant Human Being. So on top of being evil, he also knows rather than suspects he is superior to everyone; and this just makes him a person I cannot stand to be around.

Cue another example to the terror that is Polly and school-age children in general (further evidence to the need for Restriction-Section spells): late last Sunday evening, while Camilla and I were holed up in our dorm room, quizzing each other on Charms for our exam tomorrow, some strange girl barges in our room, all supposed feminine fury in her night robe and streaming golden hair, demanding that I pay Polly a weekly stipend for having the privilege of living with him.

I responded very nicely, as is my wont. "But I do not live with my brother," I said. "I live with my fellow sixth-year dorm mates. And even though I know it is a hard concept to grasp, that girls live independent lives from their counterparts, could you please still vacate the premises so my friend I can get back to our work?"

Polly apparently paid this girl to perform the service, and her responsive fury was therefore genuine for it was tinged with desperation to get her cut of the money. She took offense to my request, whipping out her wand and threatening my beloved midnight blue bed hangings with a Singeing. Now, it is hard to not laugh in the face of such cuteness. All twelve-year-olds seem to accomplish in their anger is to look like very wet kittens. And this girl even more so. The very fact that Polly's Hireling knew the incantation for Singeing, however, is deplorable and it cannot go without reprimand. The Devil whispered in my ear to call this pixie on her bluff and invite in her baby wrath, but I knew in the end, I was just too tired for such nonsense.

Eventually, Polly's Girl fled the room, after I arose from my perch on my bed, stalked her to the door with my wand, and snarled, "You will not sleep, you will not be able to eat, for knowing that I will somehow destroy you, pitiful peon! I AM A PREFECT AND I CAN CHANGE YOUR GRADE! YOU WILL GET A TROLL! YOU WILL GET A TROLL!"

I think snarls can be very effective, but Camilla doesn't approve of my handling of the situation. She has told me countless times how she feels I should be a bit nicer to children (Apollon in particular), but she doesn't understand that you need to employ a firm hand with them. See how they tried to walk all over me even with liberal use of threats? And this is only the first week of school. Once we feel the stress of exams it will get worse. These students will need to demonstrate proper cow-towing before I'll relinquish my ferocity. Camilla does not understand anything, because she does not have a younger sibling of her own to mold; and is in fact an only child. Also, she is no longer a Prefect. So leave lions to the lion-tamers and falcons to the falconers, I say. Her responsibility is to have shiny hair.

"_Evelyn!"_

"Yes, alright." Flitwick was closing in after all, it seemed for a chat. I offered Camilla my winningest smile. "Cam, quick, take Polly away for a second. Let him gaze at your face or something." Camilla did as asked but not without a stiff bum. Apollon immediately latched an arm around her waist, forgetting, momentarily that the silencing spell was still in place, and tried to steer her towards an unlit corner where his unconcensual groping could be done in peace.

"Hello, dear," said Professor Flitwick, coming up from behind. "If you wouldn't mind, could you step off of that ottoman? I'd like to address the whole Common Room and I'd like their full attention."

"Oh!" I looked down, surprised. Indeed, I was on one of our footrests. Well, it was being used well, is all I can say. My feet were resting on it. "Of course, professor. Sorry."

Professor Flitwick flicked his wand and started to levitate. "No trouble, no trouble. Ladies and Gentlemen!" he said, voiced wandlessly magnified. "You have all returned to normal, and as it is almost 2100, and you have your second day of classes tomorrow, I would like you all up to bed within two hours. It seems today was an exciting day! Thank you, and goodnight!" I would like to say Flitwick fluttered out of our Common Room, but even he is not that silly.

The Common Room groaned collectively upon hearing this announcement, but nevertheless, got over it quickly. 2300 is our lights out time, anyway, so we're used to being treated like Marines. I've heard other Houses don't have to suffer this injustice, but other Houses don't exactly make the grade, performance-wise. This is probably because they spend their nights playing 'Snap, canoodling by the fire, and ingesting Howard-Taft-sized amounts of Honeydukes' chocolate instead of going to bed at a proper hour; their minds are all muddled and hung-over for the next day.

"Professor," I said, remembering, Black's hand in this affair, "are you aware of how this all came to pass?"

"No, I am not, Miss Ransom, however, I am sure the matter is no longer your concern. If you notice any further hilarity tonight, please, let me know, but I think we're all ready to get to our beds, if you get my drift?"

I deflated. "Right, right. Of course, professor. Though, if I may, you hardly need beauty sleep."

Flitwick giggled. "My mother used to say the same thing, Miss Ransom. Get some rest, and I'll see you in the morning in my class. If I could add a hint, review the section on Bubble Head charms. We might have a quiz."

"Thanks, professor!"

Now, it is the day after The Night of Great Excitement, and everyone is settling in to their new routines. All morning, people from other Houses have been trudging slowly into The Great Hall, as I predicted, looking hung-over and dizzy-eyed, tired and grumpy. I am actually quite smug. I am not tired for once, nor am I dizzy-eyed. I must make a note to myself to watch Sirius Black at The Gryffindor Table before meals from now on so I remain my smug, superior self. If any Stuff Is About To Go Down, it would be nice to be able to recognize its happening, by the crafty villain look on his face, before it happens. Only way to do that is to stare at Black. _Really,_ that is the only reason I am looking at him.

_The Charms Classroom._

"Just a warning," Lucille said, breaking me out of my thoughts. It was late into the afternoon, almost evening really, and she and I, sans Camilla—who had gone off to do Camilla-toiletry-things—had decided to stay behind in The Charms Classroom to work on some Extra Credit for Professor Flitwick. (Edit: I should note here to readers that Staying After was strictly Lucille's idea, as I would never voluntarily work harder in a class I can get an Outstanding in without studying, especially after having a test, but Lucille physically made me)

"Yes?"

"Evans is coming this way."

"Oh, really?" I slipped my journal into my pack nonchalantly and turned around.

Lily Evans. I know I haven't mentioned before, but she is pretty much my closet-nemesis. Surprisingly, really, when hers was the first name I invoked last night when I needed reassurance, but I'm not sure I want to see her in the light of day. She's a year older, and Head Girl, and a Gryffindor, and has perfect red hair, and fairy skin, and is runway model tall, and is just _too _perfect, you know. She also has what seems a very large animosity towards the most popular boy in Hogwarts, Potter—who also, incidentally, happens to be the second biggest berk ever born. So all these things (the last one especially) place Lily Evans in the realm of Annoying-Female-Who-I-Just-Can't-Help-But-Like-Sometimes. Really, this dislike is benign. And so I tolerate her.

I imagine my unease around her is mostly due to the fact that I'll have some very, very large shoes to fill when she's gone and I doubt I'm up for such a challenge.

"What does she want, do you think?"

"Probably to talk to you about some Prefect thing," Lucy suggested in her delicate way.

"Hmm," I murmured, a second before Evans joined our tiny group.

According to Lucille's Muggle watch, Dinner would be starting in twelve minutes, so Lily Evans had better not intend to give me a lecture about using spells last night. No Siree! How the Head Girl could find out so quickly that had I tied two twelve-year-olds together after our professor disappeared, I do not know (and neither did you, until now), but no one knows every inner working cog of Hogwarts either. Magic can be mysterious sometimes. Or I could be unnecessarily paranoid. "Hello, Lily," I greeted amiably.

"Evelyn," she said, nodding at me—all proper Head Girl decorum. "Lucille. May I talk with you for a second alone, Evelyn?"

"Is it important?"

Lily Evans's red brows puckered. "Yes, of course! I won't take up much of your time. Only I have a favor to ask from you."

"Alright," I said, perfectly amenable, now that I knew that the smartest witch in Hogwarts wanted something. "We'll go over by the window, how's that?"

Evans smiled. "Great."

"So?" I said, leaning against the sill, affecting poise and snobbishness.

"So…right!" Evans cleared her throat. "I have a friend…actually, this is more in the realms of me being a Concerned Student. He's a fellow Gryffindor."

"Go on," I said.

"Right, well, Sirius Black, you know him, right?"

My breath went rank. _"No!"_

Evans blinked, surprised. "I'm sorry, you _don't _know him?" I could hear her exact thoughts as she thought them: How could you _not _know Sirius Black? Indeed, how could anyone? According to the stories, how could his mother?

"No, I do know him," I said. "What I meant was: no, I won't do it. Whatever it is. No."

"But you haven't even heard my offer yet," Evans protested.

"You've found the wrong lady. If it involves that…Lothario," I began, only to be interrupted.

"But he's not as bad as that! I promise! I mean, yes, he does have a dreadful reputation, but it's not like I am asking you to _date_ him!"

"Ha! Fool wishes!"

Evans went on, "I am asking you to _take away_ from the time he would spend dating to tutor him in History so he can practice for his NEWT's."

"Does he know you're asking me?" I said, wondering where this was coming from. Certainly not Black. He's never taken such an interest in his studies. I also doubted Evans really believed "He's not as bad as that!" If only for the simple reason that, yes, you've guessed it, Sirius Black _was_ as bad as that. Worse. Worser than Worse. Black was literally the goblin-green Grinch.

Oh, tutor the boy who poisoned everyone's tarts last night? Of course! Sign me up for that train wreck right away!

"No, he doesn't," Evans admitted, and for some horrible reason, even though I tried to control it, this made me sad. "But he _needs _a tutor. He really, _really_ does!"

"Hypothetically," I said, periodically glancing over at Lucille making faces behind Evans's back, "what would I be tutoring him in? I heard he's pretty smart anyway. What does he need me for? I'm not even in his year. I don't study the same things he does."

"But you're smart," Evans said promptly. "Especially in History of Magic. I've heard you could write the book on that. And he's just awful at it."

"But that class is just studying, Lily. It has nothing at all to do with skill. Not like Transfiguration or Charms. Which, I've heard, you could write the books on. Sounds to me like he's just a lazy arse who doesn't want to try."

"All of that's right," Evans said, "but I _know _you, Evelyn. I know you can somehow make it interesting for him. You _love_ history. I've seen the books you carry around. You're always writing in that journal of yours."

I snapped back like a cornered turtle. "I am not giving it to you!" _Why _did everyone want my journal these days? All of last year, that's all I ever heard. Everyone wanted to either read it, or they wanted me to stop writing in it. "I am _sick_ of people asking me that," I said. "No, I will not push it on a publisher. _No,_ I will not give it to Dumbledore. And like I _would_ anyway—."

"That's not what I meant!" said Evans, ending my tirade, and throwing me a strange look. "I was just trying to make a point on how you're more literature-minded than the average person your age. How that's a _good_ thing. Especially if you're going to be encouraging Sirius to read more. His curriculum needs to be more well-rounded. Despite what our professors tell us, in the real world, Evelyn, employers are no longer looking only for trade-specific skills. If you want to be hired, you need the whole package."

I said absolutely nothing for a couple moments, digesting what I'd heard.

Over Evans's head, Lucy was giving me questioning looks. _What is wrong? Do I need to come over there and beat her?_ Lucille had an Annoyance with The Head-Girl as well; however, it wasn't genuine, and had to do with them owning the same pair of pink Gladrags' 4 inch boots.

I shook my head. "This is a lot to take in. Sorry, I need some time to talk it over with my friends," I said.

"What? Why?"

"Well, I can't make decisions for myself, obviously. I need their guiding light to…light my way!"

"Evelyn, are you serious?"

"Partially. Lily, as much fun as it'd be, getting insulted and molested by Black, I think I still need to get someone else's opinion before I let him near me." At Evans's surprise I added, "For the greater good, you understand. If he can agree to respect me then perhaps I'll tutor him."

"But Sirius won't _molest _you!" she said. "On the contrary! He—."

My lips quirked. "Oh, so you think I'm not molestation-worthy? Lily, that's not very nice."

"That's not what I meant!" Evans said, getting as worked up as I'd been last night. "You're putting words in my mouth, Evelyn!"

"I'll try not to from now on."

Evans nodded. "Good." She looked hopeful again. "Good. Well, if you could think about it. Only I'm just concerned he's going to fail and be without prospects…"

"You're a very kind person, Lily. I wonder if Black knows he has you in his corner."

Evans blushed.

"I'll think about it, okay? No promises, but I'll think about it. I have a lot going on this year, and I'm not sure I can fit him in my schedule. If he didn't talk back, that'd be one thing, but developmentally, he's on par with the other 7th years."

"That's all I ask," Evans said, trying not to frown at me. "That you think about it. Take your time. Though, I would like to have an answer by dinner tonight? If it's at all possible? We need to get started early with him. Binns likes to give out tests early on in the year and Professor McGonagall asked me to secure you before we discussed the matter with Black."

"Done," I said, while my head screamed at me, _"Not_ done! _Not_ done, you vagina! Speak up for yourself! Tell her 'no'!" I glanced at Lucille. She immediately walked over into Evans's vacated spot.

"Did I hear this right?" Lucille said. "Lily Evans is commissioning _you_ to tutor _Sirius Black?"_

"It's not for sure," I prevaricated, pleased at the attention she was giving me as such single-mindedness didn't usually happen. "Nothing's for sure."

"Oh, come on!" Lucy said, flicking me on the shoulder. "It's in the bag! It's Sirius _Black."_

"Really? I didn't know it was _Sirius_ Black. I thought it was Regulus! Or some cousin of Sirius's. How remiss I have been."

"Come off it!" said Lucy. "You know you're going to do it. You love him."

"I do not love him! And who are you to talk? You said I hated him last week. I _fancy_ him, and, not for his sterling character either. There's a big difference between the two, and you know it. And I might not tutor him, actually. Maybe Black should _ask me_ if he really wants to have a tutor. None of this running around organizing things without the knowledge of the consenting party business. He's evidently completely unaware of what's going on…behind his _back,_ even…" I paused, considering this information.

"On that note!" Lucille encouraged.

I nodded. "On that note, it might actually be fun! He ruined my night last night after all."

"And all of third-year," Lucille said.

"And all of third-year."

In American-fashion, we high-fived each other. "That's my girl!" Lucy said. "Now come. Dinner awaits. Camilla's trying to stay thin for Riktus so we have to force some food down her."

See, I knew this year would be just chock-full of Interesting Things. I knew it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Concerning Queen Evelyn, the Mighty, Mysterious, Last Gryffindor of Ravenclaw and her _Adventures with Sirius Black_**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Harry Potter series, nor is this story intended as a commercial exploit._

**_Chapter Five: The Attack From a Black  
_**

_Ravenclaw 6th Year Girls' Dorm Room._

Just woke up abruptly from a nap due to a very bad dream. In it, my mum and dad were having their Annual Family Tribunal—it escapes me as to why they call it a "Family" Tribunal when kids are not allowed—and betrothing me to Nicolai Lestrange, who is a third year Slytherin and not at all good-looking, unless you like hawk-noses and I do not.

I am feeling paranoid and very much aware that other people control my livelihood. In the future, I have to learn to not let my imagination run away with me before I take my naps. It only leads to bad things.

I wonder, how awful would it be, really, to be betrothed to a third year?

Most likely pretty awful. I'd have to wait four years to do the deed officially (unless my parents have regressed to the reactionary and archaic tradition of pre sac-dropping copulation a la all of our medieval kings) and I'd be teased mercilessly by Lucille. I'm positive it'd be more proactive to self-castrate in that situation. No sex is better than bad sex, as they say.

Looking around the room, I see Mara Dice is giving me one of Her Ugly Looks and that is cheering me right up. Well, we know that Mara can only have ugly looks, as her face is two parts cow and one part the backside of an orangutan, but they are a good way to tell her mood. If she has anything to be unhappy over, then everyone knows the rest of the day is going to be happy and bright.

Considering all that's happened since term began one week ago, I know I am in for more excitement, but if one were to ask, I will just settle for things being mediocre. Exciting Things have lately been wearing me out. Testament to this statement are the goings on of last night.

Coming up from my Prefect patrolment, my miscreant quota not having been yet reached, Sirius Black cornered me on my way into the Common Room.

After finding out from his Head of House and Evans that he now had to take tutoring lessons in History of Magic from some 6th year snot, Black sneaked up to the 5th floor during my shift, while I was blissfully chasing down fourth-years. Stealth Guy from the M15 couldn't have waited until normal business hours, because the situation was too dire for that apparently, and needed correction a.s.a.p.

I knew Black could not actually get in to Ravenclaw Tower since he's dumber than my big toe, but it is not a nice feeling to see him attempt to creep into an environment I am usually quite comfortable in. I was quite uncomfortable last night, that's for sure.

He was leaning against The Doorway looking like he had designed it, built it, and owned it, when I turned the corner, and our conversation went as follows:

"Oh! Um, _hello?"_

"Are you Ransom?" Black asked, in his great effrontery, since he of course knew my name from countless family balls and years spent together at school. "Lily described you as having dark hair."

"I do have dark hair," I pointed out the obvious.

Sirius Black shook his head. "No," he said. "No, it's more tawny than dark."

"Did you need something?" I said, wanting to move the inevitable along. "A color-wheel, perhaps?"

"Lil-_Evans_…told me that you've been picked by McGonagall to tutor me?" Black stared somewhere between my eyebrows, like he was afraid to look me in the eyes. Belatedly I realized he was asking a question and wanted me to nod my head, so I did. Black unfolded his arms and gave me probably what he thought was his best charming smile. "I'm here to tell you that I don't need a tutor. So really, you don't have to waste your time trying to cram Binns's notes into my head, because I know it won't take. I've decided I'm going to drop the class, anyway. I don't know why I took it last year to begin with."

"Well, okay," I said, not convinced the matter was over at all, since McGonagall clearly ruled his House with her iron curtain, and then thought of something, "Does that mean I can go into my Common Room?"

Black barked with laughter. "You're funny!" he said. "What was your name again? Raisin?"

I rolled my eyes. _"Ransom,"_ I corrected. _"_My first name is Evelyn."

"Eee-valyn," repeated Black, looking amused, drawing out the syllables. "That's an old lady's name."

"It's traditional."

Black shrugged again. "Another word for 'old'."

"Well," I said. "Your name's not too hot, either, _Sirius. _ They stopped using stars for names back when we realized we could make names up."

"Seriously?"

"Merlin's Blue Balls, that's not at all funny. You need to get a new joke. It's been six years."

"I thought it was funny. Apparently, you have no sense of humor at all since you don't think so too. Too bad! I had such high hopes!"

"You just said I did have a sense of humor though," I reminded him.

"Well, I changed my mind."

"Well, why don't you go away then?" I pantomimed Brushing Away A Fly by flapping my hand. "You've said what you came here to tell me. And you're blocking the entrance. I need to get in."

I had made the decision to move around him, but for some strange reason my body wouldn't cooperate. Distinctive animal magnetism at work apparently. We see it all the time in the wild when the male lion just struts up to the female's behind and penetrates and the female moans in torture. I was stuck in the spot I had stopped in. Black still stood by the door and I still stood five feet away. I had enough peace of mind, however, to deliberately affect standoffishness lest he get it into his thick head to perform more Antiquated Gryffindor Intimidation Techniques on me, like pointing his finger or glaring.

"Excuse me!" I said, hoping that might jumpstart my nerve. Black gave me a blank stare, like he did not understand even social nicety. "'Excuse' me mean's I'd like to get through, Black. I really do have to go inside. I have, ironically enough, History of Magic at 0900 tomorrow morning. I need my rest. So…"

Inexplicably, and without a fight, Black moved away finally and gestured me in front of him.

"Thanks."

I watched him with wary eyes.

"Don't look so shocked!" Black said. "I'm not an ogre! I realize it's late and you've probably had a time of it, patrolling the halls. I'm only sorry I've been holding you back for so long!"

"It's, uh, it's okay," I said.

"So, just to make sure…" I sighed, but met his eyes. Of course it wasn't over. "You're not going to tutor me, right? Am I right? Because it really is a stupid idea. If I'm not going to be in the class anyway, then there's no point!"

I gave a shrug of my own. This one, in my opinion, was much more arrogant and elegant-looking than Black's could ever hope to be, because I have had much more practice. Not sure if that's a compliment or not.

"It depends on your Head of House, Black" I said. "It looks like we're both just pawns right now so I doubt what we want has any sway whatsoever. Instead of having a talk with me, why don't you go to McGonagall?"

"That's shite," said Black. "You can just make everything easy by refusing to tutor me. I know that you know McGonagall won't go for it any other way. I've heard things about you. You're Every Teacher's Pet."

"How do _you_ know?" I asked a bit testily. "You apparently don't know me at all! You thought my name was, 'Raisin' not one minute ago."

"Raisin…Ransom."

"Arsehole…Asshole…" I had a second where I quelled under Black's stare but in the end I held strong because I am a strong woman. "You're right!" I said triumphantly. "They sound remarkably similar! Go U.S.A."

"Take that back!" Black said.

I sighed. "You disappoint me! Where's all that venom I was so fond of in third year?"

For once, Black's face showcased a genuine emotion and that was confusion. "What are you talking about? I've been—."

"What? Behaving irrationally? Preventing me from sleep? Nevermind, Black. I'll try to talk to McGonagall for you, but I have already had a similar conversation with her, and it turns out that if I help you, I not only get extra points in Transfiguration Class but I also get a long-winded recommendation for whatever career I want. So it works out well for me if I tutor you."

"But I don't want you to tutor me!" Black whined like a little boy.

"Well, all life can't be all flowery and peaches," I said. "You get stung once in a while, and the juice turns sour, Black. This is putting me out a little too. Before Evans told me you needed a tutor, I already had other Commitments I needed to handle." There was Quidditch, for instance. Try-outs were coming up and I had to practice. And there were naps. I loved naps, as this entry's introduction has attested.

Looking shocked, Black said, "Well, so sorry I am inconveniencing you! But you know how to fix it, Raisin!"

"I do. Maybe I will."

"Will you?"

"I'll think about it," I said.

Black nodded. "See that you do. I am late for an appointment now, in the Tower…" I rolled my eyes. "But find me tomorrow during breakfast, alright? Tell me your final decision."

"Fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Once he was out of sight, I let out a very great scream.

_The Great Hall._

There are a lot of things I don't like about boys my age. Their disgusting-ness. Their arrogance, even when they are outwardly shy. I think I hate their undying rudeness the most. Sirius Black is a Rude Boy, and as such, I don't like him very much. Or any at all.

That last statement should be unqualified and obvious, but there are times when I feel that since Black has ignored me so much over the past couple of years, and since he obviously doesn't remember the attention he paid me in third year, he no longer deserves this concentrated animosity. And then he does something like blow me off in front of everyone in The Great Hall when I am trying to ask him a simple question about his schedule, and I am brought back to why I have so tenaciously stuck to my disliking…ment of him. He's a prize arse.

"Well?" asked Lucille, as I grumpily sat back down at our Table. "What did he say to you?"

"He wouldn't even _acknowledge_ me!" I said. "Wouldn't even look up. Kept giggling with his bosom friends."

"Oh!" said Tamara. "How _mean!"_

"Yes," I agreed. "See that I see he gets the worst time of it in the world after I talk with Flitwick. Thinks he can blow _me_ off?" I groused. "Well, not likely!"

"Why not ask Black's Head of House?" Lucille wondered.

"Flitwick is nicer!" I responded. "And he doesn't like Black."

"And McGonagall does?"

I nodded, because this was something I had put some thought into recently. McGonagall obviously cared enough for Black to see he made an extra NEWT this year, even if it was in a class everyone and their mother hated. I didn't hate it, however, and that made me the last true student. "I think McGonagall puts up a front of being offended by Black and Potter and the rest of them, but secretly, she loves all of it. She loves the fact that while it's true, Black and Potter are very annoying, they're still two of the…_ahem_…smartest wizards in their year, and she loves that she has them in Her House, because they make her House popular."

Cam blinked. "I see."

I nodded at her then preoccupied myself with tapping my goblet with my wand so The House Elves would fill it with Pumpkin Juice. "Indeed!"

"Well, what are we going to _do_ about him, then?" Lucille burst. "Are you still going to tutor him?"

"By Morgana's Crackly Tit, yes, I am." Black's snub just now had annoyed me like nothing else could. Down The Table, I saw Mara giving me a chilly pervert wink. I will qualify, and say Black's snub had annoyed me almost as much as nothing else could. "I am going to be on that boy like a burr! Like the white on rice. He will have such a good grade when I'm done with him, he'll be unrecognizable!"

"In third year, you swore that you would never help him ever again," Lucille said. "Remember?"

I did, but that was not important. "If I just think of Black as a regular student…" I began.

Lucille and Camilla started laughing. "Good luck with that!" they cried.

Tamara held out a serving dish to me. "Eggs?"

After breakfast, I said goodbye to my friends and decided to change my course of action. First I would inform Professor McGonagall of her delinquent student's reticence to be around me, and then, if she did not care or seem to want to change anything about it, which we have to assume is a distinct possibility going by her sterling personality alone, I would go to Professor Flitwick, and complain. See that that little goblin-man didn't do something to solve _this_ problem for his favorite student!

Or at least I assume I'm his favorite student. I haven't been told anything to the contrary and I certainly haven't asked for verification. All I can run on are assumptions. And one must take advantage of assumptions otherwise opportunities slip by, don't they?

I hitched up my bag and walked to The Head Table where most of the Professors, McGonagall among them, were still munching along. "Yes?" Professor McGonagall asked, noting my presence aimed in her direction. "What can I do for you, Miss Ransom?"

"Hello, professor. Are you aware that Mr. Black does not want to be tutored?" I said.

Professor McGonagall took a moment to set down her eating utensils. Then she gave me one of her standard threatening looks. "I was aware, Miss Ransom. But I confess that I had hoped you could change his mind about it. I am sad to see this is not so."

"I can't change his mind," I said. "He really doesn't want a tutor. He visited me in the Tower last night and said as much."

"Did he? How very proactive of him. It's unfortunate, however, that it is not up to Mr. Black whether he wants to fail History of Magic or not."

Still I tried. "But Mr. Black told me that he wanted to drop the class."

"Oh, he will not do that!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. Most students were leaving The Hall, so she rose from her seat, quickly searching, presumably for the man in question. "Mr. Black! Mr. Black!" she called, sounding like any maiden aunt suffering through 30 years of dry spell. They are pitifully unaware of the effect their screeching has on everyone. "Can you come up here for a minute?"

Sirius Black saluted her—though he did not move from his place on The Gryffindor Bench one inch. "Yes, Minnie!"

"Oh, _Merlin."_

For a moment, Professor McGonagall's lips pressed together in a firm line. I could not believe Black's audacity. _"Mr. Black!" _she said again, now clearly furious. _"Up this instant!"_

A second later, Black joined us at The Head Table. He looked especially angry at me for ruining his breakfast. Angry enough to duel me, even, and I'm not sure I wanted that, since my hair was only just finally lying straight, and vigorous exercise would make it stick up again.

I guess it's not that hard of a stretch of the mind to note that Black wants to duel with someone, though. I hear Black tries to duel someone every day—Severus Snape from Slytherin being of course his preferred victim of choice. Thinking that it would annoy Black, I decided to wave at his Slytherin whoopee cushion. Snape, in turn, tripped over his feet when he saw that someone wearing a skirt was acknowledging him, but I had succeeded in getting Black to frown harder at me, so Snape's momentary embarrassment was worth it.

"He's a _Slytherin!"_ Black hissed like that was tantamount to The Worst Insult Ever. "He's a Death Eater!"

"Mr. Black!" Professor McGonagall remonstrated. "That is enough! You are up here to discuss with me about why, it seems, you feel you do not need a tutor! Not to gossip about other students!"

"Sorry, Minnie, my heart, it won't happen again!"

Professor McGonagall nodded before she could stop herself I think. "See that it doesn't." She paused, thinking over her next words. "…When I talked with you the other day about your grades last term, Mr. Black, and said that you needed to apply yourself more, I did not mean that you should feel free to apply yourself to dropping any classes!"

Sirius pouted at her. "They are my classes to drop," he said. "I don't see why I can't drop them."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Black, I don't want you to drop History of Magic. It is a simple thing of not studying the material that has you so hung up—."

"Actually, Professor McGonagall," Black interrupted in what was a glorious show of characteristic mule-headedness. Even professors, Black argues with. "Binns's class is just too boring for me. It's too boring for _anyone_ to get a good grade in." Black glanced at me. "Except maybe Raisin over here. Why _do_ you like the class, Raisin? Is it because you think ghosts are romantic?"

"No," I said, confused as to how he could get up and dress himself in the morning if this was an example of how oppressingly stupid he was. "It's because _history_ is romantic." _You dumbarse,_ I added silently.

"I agree, Miss Ransom," Professor McGonagall said, with a nod. "Which is why, Mr. Black, Flitwick and I chose her to tutor you."

"I am going to drop the class."

"No, you will not!" McGonagall ordered. "History of Magic is an important class and you will not drop it, Mr. Black!"

"I don't need it to become an Auror!" Black replied. "I already have five other NEWT classes."

"You will not drop it, Mr. Black!" Professor McGonagall reiterated. "If I have to talk to The Headmaster to make sure you don't, I will, but you are staying and attempting this course!"

"Well, fine Minnie," Black said obnoxiously. "You can go do that. Class is starting in five minutes though, so I think Raisin and I need to leave. As much fun as having this conversation was…"

"Two points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mr. Black!" McGonagall said, though she looked a bit frantic that she might be late to her first class too. The professor pushed back her chair and stood up. "Miss Ransom," she nodded at me, "I would like to finish this conversation later. I will send you a note sometime within the hour with more information."

"Of course, Professor McGonagall. Have a pleasant day."

"You too, Miss Ransom." McGonagall gave Black One Last Quelling Look then went on her way out The Hall.

Wanting to be able to say I left Black standing there to other people, I started walking away.

"_Hey!"_ Black called. "Wait up a moment!"

"No, no," I said, looking over my shoulder at him. "You were right! Class does start in five minutes." I swept my wand in a Tempus Spell. "Actually, four minutes. Gotta jet, you see."

"Minnie sure doesn't know how to take a joke, does she?" said Black, catching me up.

"_What?"_

"I mean, it is my class to drop." He took a moment to smile at what had to be my very scandalized expression. "I should be able to drop it."

Not wanting to believe that Regular Human Rights' Rules applied to Sirius Black when he so often flouted them for other people, I shook my head. "No. You shouldn't. Now I have History of Magic with the romantic ghost now so…you realize you are walking the wrong way, don't you, Black?" I said, absolutely gob-smacked he was still walking next to me. "I don't know what class you have, but I know it's not with the 6th years."

"I can miss a couple minutes," he said. "It doesn't matter."

"Well, it matters to me. Don't get in trouble on my account."

"But I wouldn't!" Black said. "That's the thing! Everyone saw us talking with McGonagall, so they'll just assume that's where we are now!'

"Well, I still have to get to class."

"Oh, I see," Black nodded, "You don't want to skive off then? Join me for a little stroll?"

"That would be a 'no'," I said.

"No?"

I nodded, Inescapably Thankful that I saw my classroom in the very near distance. I was the only one of My Fellow Ravenclaw Girls who took it, so no one was waiting outside for me. No one to see that Black and I were talking. All Good. Good. "That would be a 'hell no'."

Black looked like he had all Sorts Of Things To Say, but contented himself with only telling me "Goodbye then."

I waved him off. "Goodbye."

Merlin! Now you see why I need my naps!


	6. Chapter 6

**Concerning Queen Evelyn, the Mighty, Mysterious, Last Gryffindor of Ravenclaw and her **_**Adventures with Sirius Black**_

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Harry Potter series, nor is this story intended as a commercial exploit._

_**Chapter Six: The Unction in the Instruction**_

_Ravenclaw Common Room._

Late at night and I am actually not supposed to be down here at this hour, but I can't sleep. I can't stay one more minute in my suffocating, vanilla musk ridden dorm room. I forgot, over the summer how weird it is living with four other girls. Everyone knows you shouldn't keep food scents around fat people, and these bints have done it anyway. Well, in my case I am not necessarily fat, only marginally overweight, as compared to my mum's standards,—she is forever squeezing my waist in hopes some fat will pinch off—however, vanilla is in all kinds of baked things. Everyone knows it is subliminal advertisement akin to nazi brainwashing but do they stop? No. I believe, in fact, Lucille keeps these candles lit to annoy me. Hopefully, next year I will make Head Girl and will not have to worry about sharing a dorm with anyone, vanilla-candle-lighting-or Mara-Dice-ing alike.

Hmm. Thought!

Speaking of Sharing Rooms With People, there is one person, one man, in particular whom I wouldn't mind sharing a room with. If Heathcote Barbary, of the flowing blond hair and keeper physique, were to be held back another year so he can make Head Boy to my Head Girl, it would actually make me quite happy. I'm sure some people, of the Board of School Governors variety, believe if you're stupid enough to get held back in the first place, then maybe you don't deserve to get rewarded with something like being made Head of the Prefects, but in Heathcote Barbary's case, I disagree. That boy's face is way too nice to not have with us another term around. Surely, the governors would agree.

Heathcote has a girlfriend (they always seem to, alas) but Suzy Carmichael, though pretty, is also a 7th year. By July, if Heathcote doesn't want Suzy to expect a ring on her finger and lots of babies, he should be getting out of that relationship. By July I also expect to have at least kissed a boy for the first time, so I think Experience-Wise I will be up to date and ready for Some Action.

Merlin, I am lame.

Ready for some action? Of course I won't have even kissed a boy by end of term. I look like a grizzly bear and I haven't got any manners.

I should probably just throw in the towel now, eat my weight in berries and fish, and go hibernate for six months. Perhaps, by March or April, I will be able to emerge cocoon-like into a butterfly. And then the boys will stare in rapture instead of, well, horror and fear.

You see, I came down here to clear my head by writing, and all I seem to be doing is making it more jumbled. It's my fault anyway. I let my own need for revenge lead me around by the teet today, and here is the result: my cogs have gotten quite bollocksed.

Several times, Sirius Black gave me an out to tutoring him, and what did I do? Well, I declined. I declined, because as much as I don't want to be around him, I know my presence will annoy him that much more. Petty, but whoever said I couldn't be? I am sixteen. And with boys, you sometimes have to sink down to their level if you want to win. I will win, obviously. I'm a Ravenclaw.

It is Thursday tomorrow, and that means I have Potions again; though this time it's only an hour-long class. I am looking forward to seeing Sluggy, because he sent me a note (in the same vein as McGonagall), saying that he has "something of import, Miss Ransom" to tell me. I am hoping it is to discuss our end of year assignment and not some sexual proposition. In the case of any sexual proposition with a professor, I'd have to decline, but tempting, isn't it, to lose the v-card to the equivalent of a very large potato? In this instance it would be sure to flatten my own slightly overlarge form into something resembling a pancake. Though avoiding the inevitable mastectomy is of course preferred. Wouldn't the world be a happier place if every female in it had full breasts and a flatter tummy?

I am glad no one is down here with me. I always feel uncomfortable writing in front of people, because I know they are staring at me thinking I am odd. "What is she writing?" (esp in the case of our previous paragraph) they think. "Is it about me? Is she writing that she has a crush on me? That she wants to _snog_ me? Well, I don't want to snog her!"

Thank that great robe-wearer up in the sky, that I have this journal spelled private-o.

If this weren't the case, my inner thoughts would be pasted all over Hogwarts as soon as Mara could get her fat grabby hands on them. Not that I'm sure people would care all that much about what some Laughable Ravenclaw 6th year Girl has to say ("You're writing your memoirs at _sixteen?"_) but the possibility of Notoriety is enough to make me very careful whenever I take my journal out. I don't want to be famous yet. No, only when I've become beautiful and miraculously photogenic.

McGonagall almost confiscated this yesterday when she saw me walking in the hall with my head buried deep in it. I think she thinks I am deranged and possibly scarred by the horror going on in the world and writing constantly is the only thing I have that is preventing me from jumping off The Astronomy Tower.

I think she may be right. I am at home with my thoughts more so than I am interacting with others. There is a comfort in knowing yourself so intimately, especially when one's friends are ridiculous. One belief McGonagall evidently doesn't share. However, McGonagall is a proponent for action rather than contemplation, and we know all great wars were ended by diplomats, _not_ lunatics with swords. She should be comforted someone in this school knows how to write.

I have a tutoring session with Black tomorrow, or so said the note from her. Right after Dinner, Sirius Black is supposed to meet me in Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration Classroom. Evidently, Professor McGonagall will be overseeing the first couple sessions until Black gets comfortable and accepts the fact that yes, he really does have to do well in History of Magic, his Head of House told him so. Because of this, I am back to feeling smug. Black cannot possibly act up that badly with a professor in the room, watching him. I am confident I will actually make some head-way on his thick head. Previously, all that seems to knock down that two-by-four is tiny ballerina girls pirouetting in nude paintings.

Perhaps I can get Lily Evans to convince James Potter that Black should behave anyway, regardless of a minder being there? Perhaps I also want to get hexed by Charms Expert Evans for even daring to suggest such a nasty thing as her pleading to Potter.

I am finally starting to yawn again, so I think I am going to put this away.

Until tomorrow, My Beloveds!

_The Great Hall, Afternoon._

"How was Arithmancy?" I asked Camilla, setting my pack under The Table at my feet. Lucille took a seat next to Tamara, and the two of them commenced a hushed conversation complete with intermittent giggling and several "really?"'s on Tamara's part. I stared at them but their wall of gossip remained for the moment impenetrable. "Could you pass the rice, please?"

Camilla nodded, still chewing on a biscuit. "It was okay," she said. "Professor Cecil gave us a chart to do, but we don't have to finish it until next week, so I should be okay." Camilla's Thursday morning class apparently got out ten minutes before Lucille's and mine which I would consider unfair if it weren't for the fact that (from what I hear) Arithmancy is a very hard subject. Something to do with adding the numbered-values of letters to get one single number…no more. My head ached, thinking about it.

"Well, tell me if you need any help," I offered. At Camilla's confused look, I added, "I know a person who's very good at it."

Cam started to smile. "Featherhead, right?"

"So!" I said. "Lucille!"

"What?" Lucy asked, annoyed at my voice, still with her back turned to me. "I am in the middle of something!"

"What are you and Tamara talking about?"

"None of your business!" said Lucille.

Tamara looked over at me. "Hi, Evie! We were just talking ab-_mmph!"_

"Lucille!" Camilla and I said together. "Take your hand away from her mouth right now!"

Lucy shrugged. "Sorry, but I can't. Tamara," Lucille addressed her, "I really am sorry, but I want this to remain private for now, okay? I'll tell everyone later, I promise you."

Tamara nodded, eyes wide.

"You're so rude, Lucille," I said. "Such a bad friend, isn't she Tamara? Why, Camilla! Look at how she's manhandling her! Tamara's such a delicate girl. She surely doesn't need this abuse!"

"I know, Evie," Camilla said. "It's outrageous, the stuff these Muggles teach their children these days! Vulgar!"

I nodded. "Absolutely horrible! Further evidence to their inherent inferiority."

Lucille and Tamara glowered at the both of us.

_The Grounds, Half Hour Before Dinner._

On the Remus Lupin Front, I am still unsure of what is going on. Lucille has been getting zanier by the day, so I assume…I assume Something Must Be Happening, but what, I have no idea. According to Tamara—whom, I am sorry to say, Lucille, cannot be trusted with a secret!—Lucille is off on a walk with Lupin right now. I know this to be fact, because I am following a discreet ten feet behind the pair. It is very cold out, so I do not know what kind of first date Lupin thinks this is, but he is not scoring any points at all.

The two know I am behind them but my presence is necessary. I am here to make sure No Funny Business goes down. Lucille is periodically throwing dirty looks over her shoulder, and Lupin looks delightfully embarrassed, but I will not budge.

The fact that Lupin won't talk to Lucille in a public forum is I guess what is bugging me. I do not buy the excuse that he is "Just too shy for that sort of thing," as Camilla puts it. Remus Lupin obviously has enough audacity to single Lucille out for his perverted attentions via note passage, so I think he should man-up and be proud of his feelings. Sit with her at Dinner and hold hands conspicuously above board, that sort of thing.

The fact that I liked Remus Lupin before this year started is a moot point. I had a crush on Sirius Black before he opened his big fat gob. Feelings change.

_Transfiguration Classroom._

"Welcome, and sit down, Miss Ransom," Professor McGonagall greeted me, as I came in through the door, indicating a desk in the front of The Classroom. I smiled at her wrinkled face and took the chair on the right. The room was conspicuously absent of Sirius Black, but I knew he was coming, because all throughout Dinner he, along with Lucille (but that's no matter), had been sending me Looks. "We will start as soon as Mr. Black gets here."

"Alright, Professor," I said. "How are you?"

"I am doing fine, Miss Ransom, thank you for asking. And yourself?"

"Oh, I am doing fine," I said. "Fine. Can't wait for this to start."

"Hmm," Professor McGonagall said. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Professor. I have been very excited."

"Well, I suppose that must be a good thing."

"Yes."

"If you want," suggested McGonagall, "you can get your notes out and choose the ones from which you think Mr. Black will benefit the most tonight. I believe The International Warlock Convention of 1289 is relevant? He has an exam next week on the subject."

"I've already done that, ma'am," I assured her, extracting from my school bag a thick stack of parchments I had re-copied just for Black last night. In it, key points were underlined; sometimes twice.

"Merlin, Miss Ransom!" said McGonagall. "You did come prepared, didn't you!"

I shrugged, suddenly modest. "Thank you, Professor."

"Not at all," Professor McGonagall told me. "Oh good! Here he comes." I busied myself with reshuffling papers. "Hello, Mr. Black. Take a seat by Miss Ransom, please."

"Alright."

"Hello," I mumbled, feeling I had to be civil to this specimen of newt, even though it galled me.

"Raisin."

I rolled my eyes. I know I chose the current scenario through a combination of a desire to be a better-rounded Ministry Applicant and a desire to annoy the person in front of me, but he doesn't have to make doing it so hard. Or rather, so easy.

"Professor? How long is tonight's session?"

"Two hours, Miss Ransom. I think that should be a good start for tonight. I also understand you have Prefect Duties, so I won't keep you later than what those will allow."

"Thank you, Professor."

Professor McGonagall nodded, and waved her wand. An hourglass appeared on her desk and she turned it over. "You two may start now." She began marking papers, ostensibly not paying us any mind.

"Okay, Black," I said. "I've copied down some of my notes for you. I want you to study them when we're not together."

"Fine," said Black, sounding grumpy.

I paused. "…Are you alright with this? I mean I know…" I lowered my voice, lest McGonagall hear what I was about to say next. "I know Professor McGonagall is _making_ you, but I'm not sure I feel comfortable teaching a person who doesn't want to learn."

Black shrugged. "Your fault, Raisin."

"I guess it is." I took a fortifying breath. "Now, first off, Black, I'd like to see the notes you've been taking down…or…" I glanced up at him. _"Or,_ if there are no notes, then I would like you to very briefly go over what you remember of the class you had this week. When was it again? Monday?" Black nodded. "Alright. Monday. It's Thursday night now, so that means tomorrow is Friday…stop me if I'm wrong. I know Hogwarts' educational system has declined in the past fifty years but surely they've taught us enough to recognize days of the week. How are you on telling time? Was it difficult, reading the eight and twelve? Only you were a few minutes late and I have my doubts."

"Can we just get on with it?" said Black testily. "Why don't you just tell me what to study and I'll study it and then we don't even have to talk, how's that?"

I shook my head. "The problem with that is that I can't be sure if you're absorbing the information you're reading."

"There are spells for that," he responded, like I was the stupid person.

"Any that _you_ know of?"

"Well, I know of them, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have said anything!" Black snapped.

This, apparently, got McGonagall's attention. "Mr. Black!" she said. "Keep it down, please! I am grading your homework right now, and trust me when I say you want me to be as calm as possible!"

"Sorry, McGoogly-Pooh. I'm trying. But Raisin over here—."

"It's Miss Ransom, Mr. Black. Please show her the proper courtesy." She paused. "Please show us _both _the proper courtesy."

"Right. Ransom. Well, she keeps on going on about how I need to review these notes she's given me, but she won't even give me the chance to do it! I'm not trying to be rude, but honestly! It's enough to drive even you mad, Professor McGonagall!"

"Black, I believe we should get back to the matter at hand," I said.

"And what is that now?"

"Right, let's start with a few questions to see where you are. What was the purpose of the convention in 1289? And why were women henceforth banned from attending?" I shot at him.

"I believe it had something to do with _vaginas."_

"Mr. Black!"

_I will turn you into a vagina,_ _it's not hard,_ I furiously thought.

_Ravenclaw 6th year Girls' Dorm Room_

McGonagall extracted a promise from Black that he would walk me back to my Common Room after our session, and Black actually complied, prolonging what has to be our mutual misery, and leading me by the elbow like some misguided and rogue-ish Arthurian Lancelot du Lac, though not with the added general perverseness of a trusted first knight whose gone off and buggered one's wife.

I have to go back outside in five minutes to patrol The Hallways Of My Favorite Second Floor and so am waiting right now for Mara to get her fat arse down here so we may leave. I am certain I will enjoy the time apart from my nosy mates, however, the downside, of course, of not being on friendly terms with our other 6th year girl Prefect is that I periodically have to work with her. Not that Mara and I everwalk The Hallways together—you can bet we split up once we are out—but the limited time we do spend in each other's company is Rife with both Silence and Yells.

I think she's disappointed she's not the one tutoring Sirius Black.

After tonight, I don't like that I am tutoring Black either but if one more upside to this is that I get to annoy Mara, then that is alright with me. Unfortunately, Mara Dice is second in our year to me. It galls to even think about it, but there it is. On paper, she's actually competition. She comes off as moral and diligent, however, it takes a face-to-face meeting to discover how psychotic she actually is. She's not even talented enough for a career in radio—and with her looks one would hope she'd pick a career that kept her sightless—because her voice reminds one of the slime rolling off rocks, but that does not stop her from talking.

"Okay," announced Mara; her fat form jiggling as she stomped down the stairs in stiletto boots. "I am here!"

"Lovely, shall we go?"

"Yes, because the sooner we go the sooner I am back and away from you again!"

"Well, Mara," I said, following her outside, and closing the door behind us. "That would be true if it weren't for the fact that we sleep in the same bedroom. Alas! Your plans were foiled before they began."

"Hmph!"

"Right. So, making our conversation as short as possible: I have decided I am taking the 7th Floor Hallway. You can have 2nd Floor."

"I don't want 2nd Floor!" said Mara obstinately. "I want 7th."

"Well, I just called it, so you can't have it, sorry."

"I'm taking 7th Floor!" Mara told me. She emphasized this by moving to get in my face.

"Well, fine," I said, turning around and walking away, secretly cheering, because 2nd Floor didn't contain nearly as disappearing many stairs nor hiding places. I'd be back up within twenty minutes. "I didn't want your manky 7th Floor anyway!"

"My 7th Floor is not manky!"

"It is if you've been stepping on it!" I said. Walking fast—practically running now. The stones of The Castle shook as Mara ran to catch me up.

"Why are you such a _twat?"_ she demanded from behind, huffing a bit.

"I have no idea! Why are you such a shitehead? These will forever remain mysteries of the universe."


End file.
